


Crossing Lines

by Ren



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Case Fic, Draco Malfoy Speaks French, Enemies to Lovers, H/D Pottermore Fair 2015, HP: EWE, Jealous Draco Malfoy, King's Cross, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Mystery, Oblivious Harry Potter, POV Harry Potter, Pining, Post-Hogwarts, Sharing a Room, Smuggling, Train Sex, Trains, World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:51:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 47,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4899199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ren/pseuds/Ren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While investigating a ring of smugglers, the Aurors receive a tip saying that the European Express is being used to move contraband across state lines. To solve the case, Harry has to unmask the smugglers and find the hidden contraband before the luxury train reaches Bulgaria. Draco Malfoy is also on board… but that's just coincidence, isn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks go to the mods for running this awesome fest and to Isa for helping me brainstorm. I am very grateful to evansentranced for betaing this on very short notice and for providing many helpful insights. 
> 
> I'd like to apologize in advance to any native speakers of all languages mentioned in the fic; in particular I know Bulgarians don't really sound like that, but I copied Krum's accent anyway to be coherent with the books. I also used google translate for a couple of words so I hope I haven't bungled anything. 
> 
> The train route is based on the historical routes of the Orient Express, as well as Pottermore's mention of wizarding villages in continental Europe.

  
[ _Click here for a bigger version of the map._ ](http://imgur.com/WikxhaE.png)  
  


King's Cross on a Friday evening was crowded with Muggles heading home from the office. Harry quickly scanned the departure boards. His train wasn't there, of course, but the blinking orange lights let him know that he only had ten minutes to board. He set off towards Platform 7 at a brisk pace, pushing his trolley past a group of kids.

Only four hours ago Harry had been in his cubicle, thinking about his plans for the weekend, when the owl arrived. The message was brief – a few lines scribbled urgently by one of their regular informers – but it was important enough to send the whole office into a frenzy. _What you're looking for will be on the EE. King's Cross, Platform 7 ½, tonight. –HBE_

The word "tonight" was underlined twice, as if there was any need to remind Harry that this case had priority over everything else. HBE was not the signature of the informant but rather the code for Hebridean Black Eggs, Class A Non-Tradeable Goods and the central item in Harry's current case.

Some weeks ago, someone had broken into the dragon reserve in the Hebrides and made away with several eggs and hatchlings. The Aurors had been able to rescue the hatchlings, but not the eggs, and a few of those were later found all the way in Sofia by the Bulgarian Aurors. The Ministry was eager to recover the remaining eggs before they caused an international incident.

As soon as Harry read the message, runners were dispatched to other departments, international fire-calls were made, and a railway director was called back from his weekend getaway for the express purpose of obtaining a last minute train ticket on the European Express departing that night from London to Istanbul.

When he reached the barrier between Platforms 7 and 8, Harry slowed his pace and looked around to see if anybody was paying any attention to him. There was a middle-aged manager nearby, but her head was turned and she was busy shouting into her mobile. Sure enough, nobody even noticed when Harry pushed his trolley into the barrier and disappeared.

As soon as he was on the other side, Harry leaned against the trolley and breathed a sigh of relief. He had a stitch in his side from rushing all the way and his trunk had been packed so quickly that he wasn't even sure he'd brought a toothbrush, but he'd arrived in time.

The European Express stood in front of him in all its glory, gleaming green and gold. Most of the passengers had already boarded and only a few stragglers remained on the platform, along with those who had come to see the travelers off.

A blond man was standing next to a pile of trunks but as Harry stepped closer he turned and stepped on the train. Harry paused and looked through the train's windows, but he couldn't see the man again. He'd looked remarkably like Draco Malfoy.

Harry had probably imagined it – he'd only seen the man from behind, for Merlin's sake, and there were plenty of tall blond men in London. _Well-dressed tall blond men_ , his treacherous brain supplied, and Harry shook his head as if to rid himself of the sheer possibility. The only reason he'd thought it was Malfoy was because the annoying git had been on his mind lately.

They hadn't kept in touch after the War for obvious reasons, but they saw each other at the odd thing. And, while they never actually spoke to each other, Malfoy always ended up standing next to Harry and complaining loudly about the shortcomings of current public servants. The HBE case in particular had given Malfoy great pleasure. He'd made sure to be well within Harry's earshot at St Mungo's annual Patrons Ball while he told Madame Jarvis what a disgrace it was that the Aurors weren't doing anything to stop this rampant theft of dragons.

Harry usually didn't pay any attention to the crap Malfoy spouted – the Daily Prophet printed the same idiocies after all – but it rankled that under the crap Malfoy was correct. That was why he thought he saw Malfoy on the platform, Harry reasoned. He'd been going over the case in his head and been reminded of Malfoy's remark, that was all. After all, what were the odds that he'd meet Malfoy here of all places?

While Harry was lost in thought, one of the conductors, looking majestic in a bottle green velvet jacket with gleaming brass buttons, noticed him and came forward.

"Will you be boarding the European Express, _monsieur_?" the conductor asked, unrolling a long piece of parchment. He raised a thick eyebrow as he checked a list of names. "I believe all our passengers have already arrived, _monsieur_."

Harry snapped back to the present. "Er, I have my ticket here," he said, patting his pockets absently. "It was a last minute thing, I don't think I'm on your list."

"Perhaps sir is looking for one of the many other trains departing tonight," the conductor suggested. Harry ignored his look of faint disapproval and finally located the ticket in the back pocket of his jeans. "The European Express," the conductor went on, "is a very exclusive train, and all berths have been reserved in advance…"

"Yes, yes, here you go," Harry said, waving the ticket under the conductor's nose. "London-Istanbul car, cabin no. 7, upper berth."

As soon as the conductor took in the name on the ticket, his manner changed immediately. "Monsieur Harry Potter! What an honour to have you on board!" He snapped his fingers and a porter rushed forward to take care of Harry's luggage. "The train will be departing shortly. I hope you'll have a pleasant journey."

Harry swallowed a sharp retort. It wouldn't do to antagonize the staff right at the onset of the journey. Harry's mission was approved by the Minister but, because it had been put together on such short notice, he'd have no backup on the train. If things went south when he confronted the smugglers, he might have to ask the train staff for help.

Unless, of course, the smugglers were the staff members themselves.

Harry gave the conductor a strained grin and followed him aboard the train. Everyone on board, he reminded himself, was a potential suspect, and he couldn't afford even a moment of distraction.

His resolution was however momentarily forgotten as he took in the interior. Harry's only experience of traveling by train had been the Hogwarts Express and the occasional Muggle train. The European Express was on a completely different league.

Like on the Hogwarts Express, the carriage was composed of a long corridor with windows on one side and the doors to the cabins on the other, but that was where the similarities ended. The walls were paneled with polished wood and large gilt mirrors hung between the windows to give the illusion of space.

The conductor tapped Harry's ticket with his wand and returned it with a bow and a flourish. "Your cabin is this way, _monsieur_ ," he said.

As Harry followed him down the corridor, his feet sank into a thick carpet patterned with flowers like an Alpine meadow. The doors were all decorated with carvings depicting various woodland animals. As they passed the door to no. 3 a couple of squirrels turned their wooden heads and Harry was so surprised he nearly tripped over his feet. On the other side of the corridor, the large gilt-framed windows still showed the platform outside. If it weren't for that, Harry could have believed that he'd been transported to some fairytale castle in Germany or France.

"I hope you won't mind sharing your cabin with another gentleman," the conductor was saying. "There are no other berths available at this time, it being high season."

"I don't mind sharing," Harry said quickly, staving off his apologies. In truth he did mind, because having a stranger in his cabin meant he'd have to be extra careful in hiding the true purpose of his journey. But getting a ticket for the last free berth on such short notice had been difficult enough. The Minister himself had pulled strings and Harry thought minor bribery might have been involved.

"I'm sure next time the Company will be glad to reserve one of the suites for you, Monsieur Potter," the conductor says. "For the return journey, perhaps?"

"Perhaps," Harry said with studied nonchalance. "I haven't made any plans for the return yet. In fact," he said, launching himself into the story he'd concocted, "this holiday was a spur-of-the-moment decision, really. Things are slow at the office and I hadn't taken time off in months, so I thought why not go abroad for a few days?"

"A wise decision, _monsieur_ ," the conductor said, and Harry had to stop himself from laughing. Taking time off in the middle of the most serious breach of International Trade Laws in the past fifty years? Hardly. If he hadn't received the tip off about the train, Harry would be spending his weekend going over the HBE case notes. The chances of a successful close were dwindling fast after a month of false leads. He just had to hope that this one was solid.

It was very quiet inside the train. Despite knowing that all the cabins were occupied, Harry could hear no sound coming from within. He made a mental note to check the strength of the Muffling Charms placed on the doors. That could come in useful later. The only noises came from the station outside, and from the conductor himself who was talking non-stop about the marvels of the train.

"There's nothing so relaxing as a few days on the European Express," he was saying. "Why, _monsieur_ , we have a few regular travelers who like to go from London to Istanbul, and then straight back to London, without even spending the night in Istanbul. They say that they enjoy the journey so much, and that the European Express is so much more comfortable than any hotel in Turkey might be!"

"Really?" Harry said, his ears pricking up. It sounded like balderdash – if Harry spent three days on a train on his own time, he'd make damn sure to explore the city at the other end of the journey – but it also sounded like the perfect cover for the smugglers they were looking for.

The Aurors' investigation had initially overlooked trains, preferring to focus on monitoring illegal Portkeys near the Channel. In hindsight, however, the European Express was perfect to smuggle contraband across borders. Passengers could easily bring several trunks aboard as luggage, unlike with Portkeys or Apparition, and everyone on board was very affluent so they would be let through customs easily and without any thorough search of their possessions. Harry could kick himself for not thinking about it sooner. The train tickets were ridiculously expensive, but that didn't matter when the sale of a single dragon egg was easily twice as much as Harry's yearly wages.

Before Harry could ask him about those suspicious regular travelers, the conductor stopped in front of a door decorated with a sleepy owl. "Here we are, _monsieur_ , you're in no. 7," the conductor said with a slight bow.

The owl on the door blinked and seemed to stare at Harry with his round wooden eyes as he examined the door. "There's no keyhole," he pointed out.

" _Oui, monsieur_ ," the conductor agreed. "For our guests' convenience, you can use your ticket to unlock the door. That way you don't have to worry about losing your key or taking it with you." He gestured towards the carved owl. "Simply show the ticket to the creature on the door and you'll be let in."

Harry thought it was a silly idea because he'd still have to be careful not to lose the ticket, but he did as he was told. Immediately the owl hooted and the door clicked open, swinging inwards to reveal a luxurious room… and the startled figure of Draco Malfoy.

"You!" Malfoy exclaimed, taking a step forward.

Harry's hand instinctively closed around his wand. "Malfoy!" he snapped. "What are you doing here?"

"I take it you two gentlemen are already acquainted with one another?" the conductor asked, glancing nervously between the two men.

"Unfortunately," Harry replied, not taking his eyes off Malfoy. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"What does it look like? I'm going on holiday," Malfoy replied, glaring. "What are _you_ doing here? It's not against the law to take a train."

Underneath those words, though, Harry detected a hint of uncertainty. While it was true that the ban to leave the country had been lifted years ago at the end of his parole, Malfoy's position was precarious as best.

During the War Trials there had been some public outcry when the Ministry had decided to be lenient with the Death Eaters who collaborated, reserving the lifelong sentences for those who still professed themselves as supporters of Voldemort, or those who had tried to go on the run to escape capture.

The Malfoys had given themselves up immediately after the Battle of Hogwarts, and they maintained that they'd acted under duress. Harry himself had testified at their trial, and as a result only Lucius had served a short sentence in Azkaban while his wife and son were put under house arrest and then paroled after a few months.

Thanks to his family's gold, Malfoy usually got away with pretending that the War never happened, but many people thought he'd got away too easily. Harry knew that he could invent a story about a surprise inspection and make trouble for Malfoy, stop him from leaving the country, maybe make him spend the night in the holding cells. Even if Malfoy complained, all Harry risked was a benevolent scolding and a vague intimation not to do it again.

It was tempting, especially since Malfoy had been such an arse about the HBE case, but Harry wouldn't sink so low as to abuse his power. That was what _Malfoy_ would do, he thought with distaste. Still, he wasn't above letting Malfoy squirm for a while, studying him while he thought about how to reply to the question.

"I'm going on holiday, too," Harry said eventually. He glanced around the cabin. "This looks cozy. Pity about the company." He put his wand back in his pocket and, ignoring Malfoy's outraged splutters, sat down on a plush tall-backed armchair.

The cabin looked very nice indeed, more like a fancy sitting room in a castle than the inside of a train. The décor was all in shades of dark green and gold like the train's exterior, with two armchairs and a sofa arranged around a low oval table. Next to the window sat a writing desk furnished with rolls of parchment and inkwells, and opposite were a bookshelf and a large wardrobe. If not for Malfoy's presence, the journey would have been very comfortable indeed.

Malfoy must have thought the same. "There's been a mistake," he said, approaching the conductor. "I was _assured_ that I'd have no. 7 to myself as usual."

"I'm very sorry, Monsieur Malfoy, but I can't do anything about it," the conductor said, wringing his hands. "I only just found out about it myself. It's like I told Monsieur Potter… I would move him to one of the suites, but they are all taken…"

He switched to a rapid torrent of French, and Malfoy replied in kind. Harry, who didn't speak more than two words of French, was completely lost. From the tone it sounded like more apologies. It wouldn't have surprised Harry if Malfoy had bribed the conductor to be left alone in the cabin, and it would be worth it to stay there just to annoy him, but it was really too inconvenient for the investigation.

Because there had been no time to arrange for a cover identity or some kind of disguise, Harry had no choice but to travel under his own name. Even if the smugglers recognized him, Harry hoped that they would think his presence aboard was just a coincidence: after all the public didn't know that Harry was lead Auror for the HBE investigation. Malfoy, however, might have heard it from one of the many friends his family still had in the Ministry. What if Malfoy blurted out something linking Harry to the case? Harry didn't want to take the risk.

"Isn't there any other berth?" Harry asked, cutting off the incomprehensible conversation. "Even in second class."

The conductor, however, shook his head as he consulted his list one last time. " _Aucune, messieurs, je suis désolé_. I'm very sorry." A whistle sounded outside to signal their departure. "There is one vacancy, as one passenger booked a ticket and failed to show up, but…"

"But?" Malfoy prompted curtly.

"But I doubt Mrs. Simplon would want to share her cabin with Mr. Potter instead of her husband."

Harry slumped into his armchair. "Oh," he said.

"What about all the luggage?" Malfoy asked. "There's barely any room left." His arm jerked out to gesture towards a small door in the corner.

Even the conductor's mustache seemed mournful at the thought of disappointing such a distinguished customer. "I'm afraid something will have to be moved to the baggage car," he told Malfoy. "Monsieur Potter only has one trunk with him, so if you could tell me which of your valises you'd like to have moved…"

"Ridiculous," Malfoy muttered.

"Please," the conductor insisted. "We can't move the luggage while the train is moving, for security reasons, and we're about to depart."

Still muttering under his breath, Malfoy stomped across the cabin and opened the smaller door, which appeared to be a storage closet. It was full of trunks and cases, which Malfoy started to open and take things out of seemingly at random.

Harry looked on with great interest, but all the contents of Malfoy's luggage seemed normal, albeit rather extravagant. Several books, a hairbrush, what looked like silk robes… Perhaps noticing Harry's stare, Malfoy quickly dropped everything into his largest trunk and waved his wand. Everything snapped shut.

"There, you can move that one," he snarled, pointing to one of the trunks. "I hope it'll be enough space for His Majesty Potter."

Harry just rolled his eyes.

The conductor did something with a panel on the wall and Malfoy's trunk disappeared. A few seconds later, Harry's much battered trunk appeared in its place.

"Will this be acceptable?" the conductor asked, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief.

"Hmpf," Malfoy said, sitting down at the writing table and crossing his arms. Malfoy was still taking twice as much space as he ought with his luggage, but of course he had to have a grumble.

"Yes, thank you," Harry told the conductor, glaring at Malfoy.

The conductor almost sagged with relief. "The bathroom is here, monsieur," he said, gesturing to another door Harry hadn't noticed. "There's plenty of towels and soap and whatnot, but do ask if you need anything. I wish you both a… pleasant journey here aboard the European Express," he added after some hesitation. Harry felt similarly uneasy.

As the conductor exited the room, the whistle sounded again and the train started to move. Malfoy glared at Harry for a few more moments, then turned around and started writing furiously.

Harry felt sick to his stomach as he contemplated his current situation. He was stuck on a train, for three days, with Draco Malfoy. And not just on a train: they'd be sharing the same cabin, which meant that they wouldn't be able to avoid each other at all.

The most disturbing thing was that Malfoy was now one of the prime suspects in Harry's investigation. There were a hundred people or so traveling on the European Express, but only a few of them would stay on the train for the entire journey. Most were only headed to, say, Paris or Munich, and would get down after one or two days. The smugglers were headed to Bulgaria, according to Harry's sources, so the list of suspects was restricted to the few passengers with tickets to Sofia or to Istanbul.

"So," Harry said. "Are you going to Istanbul?"

There was silence, long enough that Harry started to think Malfoy was ignoring him. Eventually, though, Malfoy snorted. "Brilliant deduction, Potter," he said dryly. "This is the London-Istanbul carriage. Yes, I'm going to Istanbul."

Chilly silence descended again. Outside the window, the train was speeding through the suburbs. Harry got up and went to look inside his trunk – to his great relief, he had remembered to pack his toothbrush after all. He glanced at Malfoy's mound of luggage. He hadn't seen anything suspicious earlier, but then again if Malfoy had been smuggling dragon eggs he'd have made bloody sure not to open the trunk containing them in front of Harry. The only way to be sure would be to search the cabin while Malfoy wasn't around.

Harry took some clothes from the trunk and hung them in the wardrobe. Even there, most of the space was already taken by Malfoy's things. Most of the outfits were ridiculous, too: frilly dress robes that would look more appropriate in an eighteenth century ballroom than a train.

Malfoy was still writing, but he'd moved the chair sideways so he could keep an eye on Harry instead of having his back to the room. "Mind you don't crease that!" Malfoy snapped, as Harry shoved aside a pile of Malfoy's things to make room for his shirts.

"Just stick to your half of the wardrobe from now on," Harry snapped back, pointing to an invisible line.

"You don't even need that much space," Malfoy complained, which annoyed Harry because it was true. It took Harry just two trips to empty his trunk and store everything inside the wardrobe, but he liked seeing all of his things hanging (almost) neatly in his half, while all of Malfoy's fancy robes were pushed together at the other end.

As for the three aqua folders with his case notes, Harry hid them under a large map of Europe which he spread on the table. He'd have to find a safe place for those later in case Malfoy decided to snoop through his things. Worst case scenario, he'd just carry the notes with him and sleep with them under the pillow.

"So," Harry said again, sitting down in his armchair. "Er. Are you a frequent traveler?"

Malfoy shrugged one slim shoulder. "I suppose," he said without raising his head from his writing.

"I've noticed the tags on your luggage," Harry went on. "France, Italy…"

"Very observant," Malfoy muttered.

"Have you been anywhere else in particular?"

At that, Malfoy turned around and glared. "Is this an interrogation?"

Harry glared back. Harry would have liked nothing better than to tell him to shut up, but his personal preferences had to be set aside for the sake of the job. He was already on unstable ground as it was: as soon as the train crossed the border into France, Harry would have no legal authority to arrest anyone, or to hold people for questioning. All he could do was to gather information, and he could hardly do that if one of his main suspects refused to talk to him.

"It's called making small talk, Malfoy," Harry said with as much calm as he could muster. "Maybe you've heard of it."

"I have heard of it," Malfoy snapped. "Only I'd rather not spend the next three days talking nonsense with you. If you haven't noticed, I'm trying to write here."

Harry was silent for a few minutes. On the map, the train's itinerary was marked with a thick golden line, and a miniature European Express was currently chugging southwards. Harry stared at it for a while, tracing the itinerary with one finger and trying to memorize all the important stops. True to its name, the train crossed into several European states before reaching its destination. After France they would visit Germany, Austria, Hungary, Serbia, and eventually Bulgaria, before finally reaching Istanbul on Monday morning.

The Aurors thought that the smuggled dragon eggs wouldn't go anywhere until the train crossed into Bulgaria: it was likely that the smugglers would try to leave the train in Sofia, which was the only stop in that country. However, if they suspected that someone was after them, it was possible that they'd make a run for it.

That meant that every time the train stopped somewhere, Harry would have to be on the lookout for suspicious activity on the platform. Fortunately the Express didn't have many stops. Today they'd only be stopping once, in Paris, and then they'd be traveling non-stop through the night.

Harry stretched his arms over his head and settled more comfortably into his armchair. He felt he'd earned a short break. France was still a few hours away according to the schedule, and besides he could hardly go over the case notes in front of Malfoy.

He leaned sideways towards the small bookcase and had a look at the titles. Many were travel guides, or were written in foreign languages that Harry couldn't understand, but there was a small selection of what appeared to be English novels. He took one at random and started reading.

The book seemed to be about an elderly witch going on holiday. Harry didn't read many novels, but this one seemed to him to be especially dull, focusing on all kind of irrelevant details such as the flowers on her hat or the way in which her traveling companion tied her shoelaces. After a few pages his thoughts started to wander.

The train was racing through Kent now, and out of the window Harry could see endless fields and tiny villages in the distance. He wondered if they'd cross the Channel in the underground tunnel or if they'd have to take a ferry – the schedule didn't say.

Malfoy seemed indifferent to the scenery, which he'd probably seen several times before. It was too bad that he was disinclined to answer Harry's questions, because Harry thought he must be rather knowledgeable about traveling in general and this train in particular.

At least he had given up his attempts to keep Harry in his sight at all times, because he was hunched over the writing desk and scribbling furiously without a care for the outside world. Either he'd realized that Harry wouldn't attack him from behind, or he was hoping that Harry would so he could be moved to a different cabin. If so, he'd be disappointed, because Harry had every intention to sticking close to his prime suspect.

Harry wondered what in Merlin's name Malfoy was writing. If it was a letter, it was a remarkably long one. He'd already used several feet of parchment and refilled his inkwell once. If it had been Harry who was writing this much, the tips of his fingers would have been stained black by now, but somehow Malfoy managed to remain fastidiously immaculate. His only concession had been to roll up the sleeves of his shirt to avoid ink stains.

Was it just a trick of the light or had Malfoy lost weight? His arms looked thinner than usual, so much that Harry thought he'd be able to wrap one hand around Malfoy's wrist.

Startled, Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Malfoy's bone structure was not the point. He'd got distracted and started thinking about stupid stuff. The only question he should be asking himself about Malfoy was whether he was involved with the smugglers or not.

The profile Harry had compiled suggested that the smugglers were a group of two or three people, regulars who had been using this route for months to move goods from Britain to Central Europe. Malfoy appeared to be traveling alone, but he could have accomplices in the other cabins. He certainly was carrying a lot of luggage…

As the train got closer to the coast, Harry saw the first glimpse of the Channel in the distance. He took a deep breath of the sea air wafting through the open window. It was Friday night, he'd had a long week, and the weekend was going to be even longer: no wonder Harry's mind was wandering so much he couldn't concentrate. When this case was over, he vowed, he'd go on a genuine holiday.

Malfoy finished his roll of parchment and tapped it with his wand. As the parchment floated up and started to roll itself, Malfoy glanced at Harry. "If you're just going to sit there and do nothing, make yourself useful and close the window," he said. "We're almost there."

"To the Channel, you mean?" Harry asked. He didn't move, figuring that if Malfoy wanted to close the window he could bloody well do it himself.

"Of course I mean the Channel!" Malfoy snapped. "We can hardly be in Istanbul already, worse luck. Well? Hurry up or the humidity will get in when we go under!"

"Under?" Harry repeated, confused. "You mean when we're in the underground tunnel?"

"Which tunnel are you talking about?" Malfoy shot back.

"The tunnel that the Muggles made," Harry replied.

Malfoy just stared at him. "What do Muggles have to do with anything?" he asked. "And will you close the dratted window already?"

Feeling completely lost, Harry got up and closed the window. Looking outside he could see that not only were they traveling along the coast, the railroads themselves were running along a sandy beach. Harry was pretty sure that no Muggle train ever traveled on those tracks. As he watched they zipped around a Muggle couple who was feeding the seagulls, completely oblivious to the European Express.

Suddenly the train turned left, and Harry had to grab the window sill to steady himself. He only had a moment to notice that they appeared to be on a pier now – and then, with a great splash that shook the whole carriage, the train ran off the end of the pier and into the water of the Channel.

Harry was glad he was not facing Malfoy, because he was pretty sure his mouth was hanging open. The European Express didn't slow down at all and ran right across the sea bed, raising great streams of bubbles that startled the fishes.

Malfoy muttered a few words and a large chandelier flared into life, lighting the cabin with a soft golden glow. It was not a moment too soon, because the water was now so deep that the only thing Harry could see out of the window was a wall of murky green water.

"The Express Company says that you can leave the windows open because they're perfectly waterproof," Malfoy said in a knowledgeable tone. "But that's absolute rot. I forgot to close the window once and you wouldn't believe the damp that got in, the carpet smelled like wet dog for the rest of the journey."

"Right," Harry muttered. He could see Malfoy reflected in the window, lounging back in his chair and looking smug.

"I get that your life is boring and you never go anywhere interesting," Malfoy added, "but are you really going to spend the next hour looking at water?"

Harry rolled his eyes and turned around. "You can act unimpressed all you like. Even with all your travel experiences, I bet it's not every day that you find yourself underwater," he said, gesturing towards the window.

Malfoy just snorted and turned back to his writing, reaching for a fresh roll of parchment. Too late Harry remembered that the Slytherin common room was under the lake – though Harry wasn't supposed to know that, so maybe it was for the best that he'd said nothing.

Harry remained at the window for a while longer, mostly to keep Malfoy from saying "I told you so". After the initial shock had worn off, traveling across the bottom of the sea wasn't very exciting any more.

When he'd had enough of the monotonous scenery, Harry went back to his armchair and picked up the novel again. It wasn't a travelogue, he realized, but rather a murder mystery: someone had been poisoned and the annoying old witch was questioning everyone while making cryptic remarks about the victim's toupee.

Harry only meant to read a few pages before going back to studying the itinerary, but when he raised his head again he realized he was several chapters into the book already. At some point while he was reading the train had reached France, though there was hardly anything to see because the sun had gone down and it was pitch black outside.

Malfoy got up from the desk and, after locking all the writing supplies inside his trunk, he disappeared into the bathroom. Dinner time, Harry though, looking at his watch. Taking advantage of Malfoy's absence he took out the three large folders with his case files and considered what to do with them.

It didn't seem safe to leave them inside the cabin in case Malfoy or someone else decided to snoop around. After checking the back of the bookcase and the closet as possible hiding places, Harry eventually transfigured the folders into underpants and shoved them under a pile of clothes at the bottom of the wardrobe. He'd have to return to their shared cabin before Malfoy, just to be sure, but he felt pretty confident that they'd be safe there.

When Malfoy emerged from the bathroom, Harry couldn't suppress a grin.

"What?" Malfoy said, smoothing back his hair with a fussy gesture. "I'm going to dinner, aren't you coming?"

"Of course I am," Harry replied, fighting back laughter. Malfoy looked like he was about to dine with the Queen rather than on a train. He'd changed into a fancy dark blue suit jacket, and he had what looked suspiciously like a cravat. Malfoy's choice of Muggle clothing was certainly better than many other wizards', but his fashion sense seemed firmly stuck in the past century. "You look very nice," Harry added, as gravely as he could.

Malfoy just glared. "Aren't _you_ going to change for dinner?" he snapped.

Looking down, Harry realized he was still wearing the faded argyle sweater he'd had on all day. Harry had no idea how people dressed while on holiday but he could at least change into something that didn't make him look like he was at the office. "Yeah, I suppose…" he said.

Malfoy didn't bother to wait for Harry. He left first, slamming the door behind him. "…You go ahead," Harry muttered to himself. A quick look at the wardrobe showed him his limited clothing options, so he changed into a grey cardigan which was the nicest thing he'd packed.

The wooden owl on the door blinked sleepily as Harry stepped outside. Just as a precaution Harry tried to jiggle the handle, but the door wouldn't open if he didn't show the owl his ticket. Satisfied, Harry set off towards the restaurant carriage.

The restaurant was near the front of the train, so Harry had to cross a few passenger carriages to reach it. Every carriage had a different theme to it. The London-Munich looked like an underground grotto with coloured crystals growing on walls of polished stone. The London-Venice looked like an ancient temple and even had a small fountain at one end, which two small girls were throwing knuts in.

A smiling witch in the green uniform of train staff was standing at the entrance of the restaurant carriage to greet guests.

"Ticket, sir?" she asked. After inspecting it, she gave Harry a small bow and motioned for him to follow. "You have a corner table, sir. Your companion arrived just a minute ago."

Harry barely heard her, distracted as he was by the sight of the restaurant. It was by far the most elegant place he'd ever dined at, and that included several Ministry dinners. A crystal chandelier dangled from the middle of a vaulted ceiling adorned with carved stucco and frescoes. All the tables were decorated with more candles and bunches of fresh flowers, and a small army of waiters levitated trays and serving dishes about the room, ready to serve. Everyone seemed to be wearing their best finery, and the opulence of the silverware was obfuscated only by the jewels that adorned the ladies.

Malfoy was sitting by himself at a round table near a window. Harry's stomach fell when he realized that, far from looking like a prick, Malfoy looked like he belonged. Harry himself looked like someone who'd come straight from the office and had thrown on the first thing he found in the wardrobe.

He tried to smooth down his unruly hair but he gave up when he saw the looks that the other guests were giving him. He didn't care what impression he offered, he thought angrily. He'd only come to dine, not to marry their daughters.

"Here you are, sir," the waitress told Harry as they approached the table. Malfoy looked up and snorted, quickly looking out of the window again. "I'll be along shortly with the wine list."

Like everything else on this train, Harry thought, the table would have been cozy if his dinner companion hadn't been Malfoy.

Harry cleared his throat. Having to share a cabin with Malfoy was one thing, but surely they'd be able to move things around and let him sit somewhere else for dinner. "Actually," he said, "could you give me a different table?"

"You don't like this one?" the waitress asked solicitously, looking between him and Malfoy. Then her face cleared. "Maybe you'd prefer something more intimate. I could set up a screen to give you some privacy…"

"No," Malfoy said quickly. "No, that won't be necessary," he said, smiling to the waitress through clenched teeth. "Thank you very much, this table is fine. We'll have Pinot Gris with the soup and Chardonnay with the salmon. Potter, sit down!"

Glowering, Harry took the seat opposite him. At least Malfoy had chosen the seat facing the window, which meant Harry was able to keep an eye on the other passengers and study them at leisure.

Malfoy kept glaring at Harry while the waitress left. "What the hell are you doing?" he hissed as soon as she was out of earshot. "Being seen with you is bad enough already without causing a scene on the first night!"

Harry glared right back at him. "So you suddenly want to act like we're best mates?"

"I didn't say that," Malfoy replied, wrinkling his nose. "Listen here, Potter, and wait until I'm done before dismissing what I'm saying out of spite," he added as Harry started rolling his eyes.

"I'm listening," Harry said, crossing his arms and leaning forward on the table.

Malfoy also leaned forward, casting a sideways glance as if to check that nobody was paying attention to their conversation. "The people here don't know us. Most of them are foreigners, so even if they've heard about the famous Harry Potter, they might not have recognized you. The same goes for me – I'm acquainted with a few staff members and with that couple over there, but that's all…"

"What are you getting at?" Harry said, cutting him off.

"I'm just saying," Malfoy snapped, "I don't want a bunch of strangers to remember us as the two boorish Englishmen who spent three days arguing with each other. You might not care which impression you give to the world, but I'd rather avoid making a spectacle of myself because of a childish rivalry."

Harry considered this. The git had a point: it would be better if the other passengers didn't pay much attention to them. As for the smugglers, they might know Harry's name and his face, but it would be easier to hide the true purpose of his journey if he appeared to be traveling with Malfoy who was not an Auror.

"All right," Harry said eventually, trying to sound like he was making a great concession. "As long as you don't try to make fun of my job. In fact," he added, caught by sudden inspiration, "I'm on holiday and I don't want to hear anything related to work for the next three days."

"Fine, I won't even mention your stupid job," Malfoy said. "If anyone asks, we can say we were at school together and leave it at that." Then, having exhausted the need to talk to Harry, he dropped the conversation.

Just then a waitress arrived with their dinner, and nobody said anything for a while. Both the food and wine were excellent and more than made up for the poor company. There was a light onion soup and then dish of fresh fish that was called something French and unpronounceable. Malfoy very nearly insulted Harry for using the wrong knife to carve the fish, but he stopped himself in time and was almost civil.

Aside from that there was complete silence at the table, so Harry studied the other passengers as he ate. They were a very assorted bunch. Most of them were foreigners, like Malfoy had said, but there were people of all ages and nationalities in the restaurant.

Closest to their table, two elderly gentlemen with large mustaches were talking quickly in a language Harry didn't recognize but which sounded Slavic. They looked like businessmen in their matching pinstripe suits: was it possible that they were smuggling contraband under the guise of importing some other innocuous item? He made a mental note to obtain a list of all passengers later, so he could check whether they were Bulgarian, or headed to Sofia.

At the largest table, right under the chandelier, was the couple Malfoy had pointed out earlier, claiming he knew them. They were both expensively dressed, even more so than the rest of the diners. They certainly didn't look like smugglers but Harry wasn't willing to dismiss anyone at the moment.

He was distracted by a high-pitched wailing sound coming from the other side of the room. One of the girls Harry had noticed earlier had started crying, and her mother was frantically trying to calm her. As several heads turned towards their way the second girl – the girl's twin, Harry realized – also started crying. Blushing and stammering an apology to everyone in general, the mother took the girls by their hand and ushered them out of the restaurant, both still crying.

Malfoy made a face. "That must be Mrs. Simplon, who has the cabin next to ours. I heard from the conductor that her husband had some emergency at work at the last minute, and she was simply livid when he decided not to come." Harry sympathized with them both, but of course Malfoy's conclusion was different. "I also wish he'd been here, if only to help keep those brats in check."

"You don't like kids, then," Harry snorted. "How predictable."

"As it happens, I like kids," Malfoy shot back. "I just don't like loud, obnoxious kids like _those_. When I was their age I would have never acted that way in public."

"Yeah, you were a delightful child," Harry snorted, thinking back about his first meeting with Malfoy. It had been over fifteen years ago. Had he really known Malfoy for more than half his life? What a ghastly prospect.

Happily, the arrival of the waitress stopped Malfoy before he could start an argument. " _Tarte aux fraises avec crème fraîche_ ," she murmured, sliding two plates in front of Harry and Malfoy.

Again, Harry had no idea what the words meant, but the dessert was delicious. He scarfed it down in less than a minute, chased after the last couple of stray strawberries that had rolled off the cake, and put down his fork with a satisfied sigh. He had no idea how much this dinner was going to cost – the department's accountant was going to have a fit when she saw the expense note for the trip – but at the moment Harry couldn't bring himself to care.

Though dinner was over, many guests still lingered in the restaurant, sipping liqueur or tiny cups of coffee. Malfoy also seemed disinclined to leave, as he called the waitress over and ordered another slice of cake and something called _crème de cassis_. He shot Harry a glare when Harry ordered a coffee for himself; possibly he had been hoping Harry was going to leave, but Harry had no intention of returning to their cabin when he could keep an eye on the other passengers instead.

"Did you say you know some of the people here?" Harry asked after his coffee arrived. By then Malfoy was in the middle of demolishing his second slice of cake and looked rather cheerful, so Harry judged it was the best time to ask. "Like the couple sitting under the chandelier."

Malfoy paused, a forkful of pastry and strawberries halfway to his lips. "I do," he said with a frown. "Why do you care?"

Harry shrugged. "Just wondering," he said. "I'm going to spend three days on this train, with this small group of people. Isn't it natural to be curious about them?"

He took a sip of coffee and grimaced. It was very strong and very, very bitter.

Malfoy smirked. "Mmh, delicious," he moaned around a mouthful of cake. Harry rolled his eyes and stirred more sugar into his coffee. "Well, like I said earlier, I don't think there's anyone I know aside from the Dobrescus," Malfoy said eventually, between one bite and the other. He nodded towards the bejeweled couple. "She's a member of the Conclavrăji…"

"The what?"

"The Romanian equivalent of the Wizengamot, you dunce," Malfoy explained, brushing a few crumbs from his lips. "And her husband is the heir of a potions empire."

He looked quite smug about his high profile acquaintances. Harry just pointed with his spoon and said, "You have strawberry juice at the corner of your mouth." He downed the rest of the coffee while Malfoy furiously scrubbed his mouth with his napkin, and even managed not to grimace at the bitterness.

At least he could rule out the Romanian bigwig politician and her husband with near certainty. Even if Malfoy knew them, they couldn't possibly evil henchmen: they were way too high-profile to be involved with smuggling. Harry could see them pulling the strings of an international cartel, maybe, but not physically transporting their cargo halfway across Europe.

By now it was clear to Harry that the passengers of the European Express were not simply affluent: they were minor celebrities in their own right, with political clout and powerful connections. He wouldn't be surprised if some of them turned out to be nobility. Harry thought about the consequences of accusing the wrong person, and quickly decided he didn't want to dwell on that. A short time frame in which to work, Malfoy for company, almost no leads, and a diplomatic minefield to top it all. No pressure.

There was one person in the restaurant who stood out from the glamorous crowd. "What about that lone traveler over there?" Harry asked, nodding towards the opposite end of the carriage.

"Hmm?" Malfoy glanced briefly in that direction. "I have no idea."

"You barely looked," Harry pointed out.

"It's rude to stare, Potter," Malfoy said. "Didn't anyone teach you that? Anyway, I'm sure I've never seen that man before. Honestly, I only know a few of the people aboard, and certainly I don't know anyone who dresses so shabbily. With one exception," he added, giving Harry a pointed look over his glass of nasty-looking liqueur.

"Sorry I forgot to pack my cravat," Harry shot back. "I'll make sure to bring it next time we go anywhere, along with my 'I'm with stupid' t-shirt."

Malfoy looked physically pained. "Spare me the horrors of your wardrobe, Potter," he said.

Shortly afterwards, the lone young man got up and left the restaurant. Malfoy had been very quick to deny any connection to him, though that could have just been his natural snobbery.

In his torn jeans and faded band shirt, the man did stand out from the rest of the guests, though it wasn't his clothes that made him suspicious in Harry's eyes. Harry was more interested in knowing why he'd been sitting alone. He must be sharing a cabin with someone, because the train was full. But then where was this other person? Was he (or she) hiding?

"Really," Malfoy was saying, swirling the last of the liquid in his glass. "The European Express used to have class, but they're letting anyone aboard those days."

The waitress stopped by their table to ask if they needed anything else. Harry didn't, so he simply shook his head and sank more comfortably in his chair. Malfoy didn't want anything either. They were both getting pleasantly drowsy and Harry felt he could have easily fallen asleep right there.

He couldn't, though, and as they passed through a brightly-illuminated city he shook himself upright. "What time does the train arrive in Paris?" he asked, checking his watch.

Malfoy also looked at his watch, a fancy thing on a gold chain. "At eleven," he drawled. "You won't be able to see anything though," he added in a knowledgeable tone. "It only stops for fifteen minutes and one station at night is pretty much like any other."

"I know," Harry snorted. "I want to stretch my legs on the platform."

"Suit yourself," Malfoy said, pushing back his chair and standing up. "I'm off to bed."

Privately, Harry would have liked nothing better than to follow him. It was already half past ten and the other guests were slowly drifting back to their cabins for the night. Harry was still on the job, though, and his day wouldn't be over until he was sure that the smugglers didn't attempt anything in Paris.

He doubted they would, as their final destination was Bulgaria and there was no reason for them to change their plans, but too much was riding on this investigation to risk it going wrong. That was why Harry ended up on the platform at Paris's Gare du Nord, shivering from the cold because he hadn't thought to bring his cloak. Aside from a few passengers disembarking and a few more getting on, everyone else seemed to be in bed already.

Harry experienced a brief moment of panic when one of the train cars started levitating, but it turned out to be standard procedure: the London-Marseille car was being detached because it would continue on another route. It would be replaced with the Paris-Munich car and a couple more. The mustachioed conductor explained it all to Harry, and he was so pleased with Harry's apparent interest for trains that he regaled him with a lengthy account of the European Express's history.

Harry didn't really care about the date of the train's maiden voyage or the name of the Company's founder, but he listened and put in the occasional nod, and meanwhile he kept an eye on the luggage car.

By the time the conductor excused himself to go and supervise the departure, Harry was sure that nothing suspicious had happened. The only passengers who had left the train were those from the London-Paris car, and while a few items had been stowed in the luggage car, nothing had been removed.

Just before the conductor blew his whistle, a figure came running from the other end of the platform, waving his arms to catch the conductor's attention. As he drew closer Harry realized it was the shabbily-dressed man from the restaurant carriage. He'd thrown a large cloak around himself but he threw back the hood as he approached the train doors, his face red with exertion.

"Just in time, _monsieur_ ," the conductor said curtly. "The train is about to depart. All aboard!"

The conductor blew his whistle again and ushered both travelers aboard before jumping on himself. Immediately the doors closed and the train started to move.

"That was close," the man said, panting heavily. He gave a wheezy chuckle. "Lost track of time sending an owl. He waved to Harry and set off along the corridor, disappearing into cabin no. 3.

Harry stayed behind to exchange a few words with the conductor about tomorrow's schedule before heading towards his cabin. He also asked if it was possible to have a copy of the passengers list, claiming he thought an old friend might be aboard. The conductor fidgeted, citing Company regulations, but eventually gave in and copied it out for Harry in exchange for a handsome amount of galleons. Yet another thing accounting wouldn't like – "bribery" didn't look good on an expense note – but there was no avoiding it sometimes.

After the conductor bid him " _Bonne nuit, monsieur_ ," Harry went straight to his cabin. He was itching to take a look at the passengers list and see if he could link any of the names to his case, but it would have to wait until morning.

Harry stifled a huge yawn with one hand while he fumbled in his pockets for the ticket. When the door clicked open, he gave a startled exclamation at the transformation of the room. Gone were the comfortable armchairs he'd sat in, the table and the writing desk. The furniture had disappeared and been replaced by a spacious bunk bed surrounded by curtains of dark green brocade.

Malfoy himself had taken possession of the bottom bunk. He'd changed into pajamas but he was still wide awake, propped against a mountain of pillows and scribbling furiously. He looked up when Harry entered and glared at him. "Close the door, you're letting all the cold in."

Harry did so, too startled to even make a sarcastic remark. "For a moment I thought I had the wrong room," he said, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. He headed towards the wardrobe, which thankfully had remained where it was, to retrieve his pajamas. "Did you vanish the armchairs and everything else?"

"Of course I didn't," Malfoy said. "The staff turned down all the cabins while we were at dinner." Even with his back turned, Harry could _feel_ him eyeroll. "Seriously, Potter, have you never been on holiday, _at all_ , in your whole life?"

"I have," Harry said. Not often, and not at all in the last few years, but Malfoy had no business knowing that. "Only I'm not used to staying in a place where the room gets completely rearranged."

"What did you expect, that we'd sleep in the armchairs?" Malfoy sneered.

Harry ignored him, as he was busy moving things around in the wardrobe and checking that nothing had been disturbed. He hadn't thought anyone would come inside their cabin and he was second-guessing his decision to leave the case files around. Fortunately it seemed that either nobody had been snooping around or Harry's spell had held up to scrutiny, because the transfigured files were still safely among Harry's underwear. He grabbed some actual underwear and a pair of pajamas and headed for the bathroom.

"You get to top," Malfoy said, and Harry's brain short-circuited.

He stopped, his hand on the door handle, and turned around. He was suddenly very aware of how the top two buttons of Malfoy's pajama top were open, exposing his collarbone. How Malfoy's hair looked slightly rumpled against the pillows. How he was wearing nothing but thin white pajamas. "Wha…?" was all he managed to say.

"Honestly, Potter, are we going to argue about _this_ too?" Malfoy asked, and Harry's mouth went dry. "I was here first so I get to choose. You get the top bunk. This is not up for discussion."

"I get the… ah," Harry said, nodding. Malfoy just snorted again and went back to his writing. "Right," Harry added. "Yeah. Sure."

He hurried inside the bathroom and shut the door behind himself. Of course, he thought while he furiously brushed his teeth, of course he'd misheard. He really did need a holiday, if he was hallucinating Malfoy making a pass at him.

Harry quickly changed into his pajamas, which were mismatched and faded, trying and failing not to think about Malfoy's pajamas and what was inside those pajamas at the moment. When he realized he'd been daydreaming about Malfoy taking a bath in the large claw-footed bathtub, Harry groaned aloud and stuck his head under the cold tap.

Then, still toweling his hair, he climbed up to his bed and drew the curtains shut. He needed a holiday, and he needed to get laid, and he needed to solve his current case. Possibly not in that order.

After he'd calmed out a bit, Harry dried his hair with a spell and placed some protective wards around the bed, just in case Malfoy should get the idea to attack him in the middle of the night. Aside from that, the train wasn't due to stop anywhere until the following morning, so he could sleep without worries. He plopped down on the pillows which were incredibly soft and felt great.

"G'night," he murmured, half-asleep already.

Malfoy's scribbling stopped abruptly but he didn't say anything. Harry mentally kicked himself. The word had been a reflex, the result of sleeping for years in a dormitory with four-poster beds: drawing the curtains was indelibly associated with saying good night to Ron and the others.

Harry expected Malfoy to ignore him. After all, they were only civil to each other to keep up appearances in public, and Malfoy had made it more than abundantly clear that he resented having to share with Harry.

Instead, after a while, Harry heard Malfoy's voice from below. "I'm not going to put out the lamp."

Harry frowned into his pillow. "I didn't ask you to put out the lamp."

There was another long pause. "Okay," Malfoy said, eventually. "Because I'm not going to."

Harry's sleep-addled brain finally got what Malfoy was talking about. "It's dark with the curtains drawn, anyway," he said, stifling another yawn. "I don't care."

"Okay," Malfoy said again, and he went silent. Harry rolled into a more comfortable position and closed his eyes. He was already half-asleep when Malfoy said, "Good night," and he fell asleep to the sound of Malfoy's quill scratching on the parchment.

* * *

Halfway through the night Harry had a dream that Malfoy and the shabbily-dressed man were running a scheme to smuggle cravats around Europe. The shabbily-dressed man cackled and hid a bunch of contraband cravats under his cloak, while Malfoy climbed into Harry's lap to stop him from giving chase.

"Who's under arrest now, Mr. Auror?" he purred into Harry's ear as he tied Harry's wrists with – what else – his own cravat.

Harry awoke with a start and he was halfway out of his bed before he realized two important things. Or rather, three things.

First, the items being smuggled were dragon eggs and not cravats. Second, he had no proof that Malfoy and the shabbily-dressed man were involved, or even that they knew each other. Lastly, and most importantly, Malfoy hated Harry's guts and if he ever happened to tie Harry up he would _not_ do so while licking Harry's ear.

In fact Malfoy, who at some point had turned off the lamp and gone to sleep, would no doubt hex Harry into next Tuesday if he could read his thoughts right now.

Trying to ignore the heat pooling low in his stomach, Harry stuck his head under the pillow and went back to sleep.

The rest of the night was blissfully dreamless, so when his alarm jerked him awake Harry could at least pretend to be well-rested and ready for the upcoming day. He turned off the alarm before Malfoy could wake up and complain, then padded barefoot around the room and got dressed in the feeble pre-dawn light filtering through the window.

The train chugged through the French countryside now, which looked quite different from the English scenery Harry was used to. They were close to Germany according to the map, but before crossing the border the train would stop in a small French village. It was possible that the smugglers would try to switch trains part way through to muddle their tracks. It wasn't very _likely_ , though, and Harry was ready to bet the entire contents of his Gringotts vault that all the smugglers were still fast asleep.

As Harry threw on his cloak, Malfoy lifted his head from the pillows, then he groaned and threw one arm over his eyes.

"Potter, you stark raving lunatic," he moaned. "What in Merlin's name are you doing up at this ungodly hour?"

"Good morning to you too, Malfoy," Harry said, adjusting the clasp of his cloak.

"What time is it?" Malfoy mumbled without moving. He had, Harry noticed, an impressive case of bedhead.

Harry checked his watch. "Almost half past six," he replied, sounding much more chirpy than he felt, because if he was awake at the crack of dawn he saw no reason why other people should remain in bed. Especially if those people were named Draco Malfoy and gave him confusing dreams.

Malfoy groaned and mumbled something unintelligible. "Why?" he asked. "It's far too early for the restaurant carriage to start serving breakfast anyway, you dolt."

"I know," Harry replied, glad to be ahead of Malfoy for once. "Doesn't matter, the schedule says we're about to reach a village called… something I can't pronounce," he said, glancing at the map. "The train is going to stop for an hour, so there's plenty of time for me to grab breakfast and have a look around."

As he was speaking, the train started slowing down and a few houses came into sight. Harry went to open the window to have a better look, and as he did so a delicious aroma of baked goods wafted in.

Malfoy yelped and hid his head under the blankets. "Close the window, it's freezing!"

"It's not," replied Harry, who was wearing a sweater as well as his cloak. "It's a nice, bright day, and I'm sure being stuck on a train for days isn't good for your health."

It was worth it to wake up at the crack of dawn, if only to see Malfoy's disgruntled expression as he glared at Harry, bedcovers still drawn up to his nose. "I hope the train leaves without you. Don't bother coming back!"

"It's not my fault you didn't get enough sleep," Harry said with a grin, and left before Malfoy could reply.

Harry was much less cheerful once he stepped off the train and on the platform. The sun wasn't quite up yet and Harry wrapped his cloak more tightly around himself as he walked. There weren't many other people around. Most of the people on the platform were members of the train staff, or new passengers boarding the Paris carriage.

The village of Chaudron-sur-Rhône was a magic-only community, like Hogsmeade, and Harry would have liked to explore it. Unfortunately he had to keep the train under surveillance, so he stuck to the small square in front of the station from where he could see anyone who came and went.

He easily found the source of the delicious smell. On the other side of the square, a hole-in the-wall bakery was doing a brisk trade selling fresh croissants to the travelers. Next to the shop window, a piece of chalk floated around a blackboard, spelling out the names of different croissants in English, French and several other languages.

The family in front of Harry finished paying and moved towards one of the few tables in front of the shop.

"Morning," Harry said, stepping in front of the counter. "I'd like… let's see… I'd like a croissant with cherry jam and…"

The baker, a jovial man with a bald head, cut him off with a quick question in French.

"Sorry?" Harry asked. The baker repeated his question, but Harry didn't understand it any better. "I'm sorry, I don't know what that means. Do you speak English?"

The baker asked Harry another curt question. It was mostly incomprehensible, but if Harry had to guess he would have translated it as, "I don't understand English, can't you speak French?"

"I'd like… that… croissant," Harry said, pointing and speaking as slow as he could. "That one. How much is…"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," said a familiar voice behind Harry, and he turned around just in time for Draco Malfoy to shoulder him aside.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked.

Malfoy ignored him and busied himself with studying the display of pastries behind the glass counter. The baker, looking much less jovial now, asked another question in French. His face cleared up when Malfoy replied in the same language. In no time at all he put two croissants in a paper bag and started pouring a mug of steaming black coffee.

While he was being served, Malfoy kept up a stream of chatter in French which Harry couldn't follow it at all. Malfoy ignored Harry until it was time to pay, at which point he grabbed the bag with the croissants and headed towards one of the tables. "It's three sickles and twelve knuts," he called over his shoulder.

By the time Harry had paid and picked up two steaming mugs of coffee, Malfoy was seated at a small metalwork table under a striped white and blue beach umbrella. Harry joined him, grumbling, and set down the mugs with more force than necessary. A little coffee spilled over the rim of the mug.

"Mine's the one with cream and three sugars," Malfoy said. His hair was once again neatly groomed and slicked back and he was wearing a Muggle-style charcoal peacoat to ward off the cold.

"I figured," Harry said, making no move to hand him the coffee. Malfoy rolled his eyes and leaned across the table to grab his mug. Harry scooted his chair further away. "Why do I have to pay for your breakfast?"

"What, no 'thank you' for helping you with the language barrier back there?" Malfoy asked. He picked up one of the croissants, daintily between two fingers, and pushed the bag towards Harry. "The way I see it, it's your fault I didn't get enough sleep last night, so the least you can do is buy me breakfast."

Harry stared, but Malfoy looked perfectly innocent while eating his croissant. It had to be a coincidence, Malfoy had meant it in a completely different way, but Harry's brain was suddenly filled with several vivid images of him and Malfoy and what had happened last night. In his dreams, Harry reminded himself. Nothing had happened except in his dreams, which were weird and completely off the mark, and nothing _would_ happen.

He wished Malfoy wouldn't say anything that could be misinterpreted as the two of them sleeping together, but if Harry pointed it out then it would be an admission that the first thing he'd thought was about the two of them sleeping together, which would be even weirder.

Harry definitely needed more caffeine for this. His only consolation was that the other people in the square were foreigners and they wouldn't understand their conversation anyway.

The coffee was excellent, hot and strong and not too bitter, but Harry felt like complaining anyway. "I prefer tea in the morning," he said, setting down his mug and taking a bite from his croissant.

Malfoy swallowed a mouthful of pastry and made a dismissive noise. "Have you ever had tea outside of Britain?" He gave a theatrical shudder. "Vile stuff."

The croissant was excellent and there was nothing Harry could complain about. It was still warm from the over and filled with a kind of magical jam that tasted at alternate bites like apricots and wild cherries. Harry scarfed it down in a few bites and licked a leftover glob of jam off his fingers without even trying to hide his delight.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Seriously? You're not a child and cleaning spells were invented for a reason."

"You're talking with your mouth full," Harry replied.

They finished chewing in silence. Dawn had broken and a pale autumn sun was shining on the square.

"Which flavour was yours?" Harry asked in between sips of coffee.

"Strawberries and cream," Malfoy said with a small contented sigh.

"Sounds good," Harry said. He met Malfoy's eyes and they stared at each other for a moment.

Harry opened his mouth to speak again, and at the same time Malfoy stood up. "I'll just… get seconds," Malfoy said, hurrying away.

"Get one for me too," Harry called after him. He leaned back and enjoyed the warmth of the sun on his face. It had to be a small miracle, him and Malfoy agreeing on something so easily.

A shadow fell on the table, and Harry looked up to see the shabby man from the other night. He was hovering awkwardly, holding a cup of coffee.

"Hey, is this seat taken?" he asked, pointing to Malfoy's chair.

"Unfortunately," Harry replied with a rueful grin. "But we can add another chair."

"Great," the man said. He put his cup on the table and conjured a chair for himself. Like the man's clothes the chair looked rather shabby, with peeling blue paint that clashed with the fancy metalwork tables and chairs.

Harry cursed himself for thinking that. Malfoy's snobbery was rubbing off on him, he decided. "I'm Harry," he said, holding out his hand.

"Andy," the man replied, wringing Harry's hand. "I can't tell you how happy I am to find someone who speaks English, I've been all on my own since we left London."

Harry noticed he spoke with a slight Australian accent. He was well-built, of average height. Maybe a couple of years younger than Harry, though a few days' worth of beard made him appear older. He sounded so genuinely cheerful that Harry felt bad for secretly interrogating him, but the opportunity was too good to waste.

"You're not sharing your cabin with anyone?" Harry asked. "I thought the London-Istanbul was full."

Andy nodded. "Yeah, but my mate's no fun. He never speaks at all." He shrugged and drank half of his coffee in a huge gulp. "He didn't even leave the cabin for dinner, he just had the conductor bring him a tray."

"What a weirdo," Harry remarked, raising his eyebrows. If this mystery companion didn't want to meet anyone, then Harry wanted to meet him. "Maybe he can't speak English."

"Nah, he speaks English well enough," Andy said with another expressive shrug. "He's got some weird accent but his English's okay. He's just not very sociable. Like, at all."

"Some people don't like to sit around and talk with just anyone," Malfoy said.

Harry hadn't noticed his return. Malfoy's earlier good mood was gone and he was back in full grumpy mode as he sat down and tossed Harry his croissant. Harry caught it, just barely, and glared at Malfoy.

Andy seemed oblivious to the tension at the table. "Hi, I'm Andy," he said, offering Malfoy his hand.

Malfoy barely spared him a glance. "Draco Malfoy," he said, and then started eating as if there wasn't anyone else at the table.

Harry gave him an apologetic look, but if Andy was offended, he didn't show it. He finished his coffee and stood up. "Right, I'll be going then. Sorry for barging in, you guys!"

"Don't mention it," Harry said. "Hey, do you want to hang out later? Since both of our traveling companions are being unsociable," he added. Malfoy stuck his nose into the air and didn't deign to comment.

"Yeah, that sounds great," Andy replied with a grin. "You can stop by whenever, my cabin's no. 3… Hey, Harry," he added, leaning forward, "have I seen you somewhere before?"

Harry flattened his hair over the scar. "Er, no, I don't think so. I've just got one of those faces."

"Yes, a very _common_ face," Malfoy interjected.

It took Harry every ounce of self-control to avoid kicking him under the table.

"See you later then," Andy said, waving Harry goodbye.

Harry waved back. He grabbed his croissant from the bag and started eating but the strawberry jam was too sweet for his taste. He picked at the pastry, annoyed.

"Why do you always have to be such an arse?" he asked.

"Why did you have to invite that slob over?" Malfoy snapped, sulking in his chair. "Urgh, that was disgusting."

"Not everyone prances around dressed to the nines," Harry snapped back.

Malfoy crumpled the empty paper bag and vanished it with a brusque gesture. "I meant the way he was flirting with you."

"…What?"

"Merlin's pants, I thought he was about to proposition you here and now," Malfoy continued, making a disgusted face. "It was so obvious, the kid must be desperate."

Harry considered it. He'd been so busy thinking about Andy as a potential smuggler that he hadn't noticed any flirting at all. If it was true, it was a pity Harry couldn't get involved with a suspect in an ongoing case, because he was cute in a boyish sort of way. But Harry couldn't dismiss the possibility that Andy had recognized him, and that he was trying to get close to Harry for some purpose of his own, so any flirting on Harry's part was definitely out of the question.

"What do you care anyway?" Harry asked, feeling thoroughly vexed with the world in general and with Malfoy in particular.

"I don't," Malfoy pouted. "I just thought I was done having to deal with your fanclub wherever I go. Brings me back to…" He stopped and looked away. "Oh, never mind, I've wasted enough time, I've got things to do."

He stormed off and Harry watched his retreating back, seething. The morning, who had been so perfect only a few minutes ago, had been spoiled. Harry didn't like this thing that the two of them were doing, trying to act civil around each other, because it made Malfoy all the more insufferable when he reverted to acting like a prick.

There was still some time before the train would leave, but Harry's backside felt frozen after sitting on the cold metal chair. He decided to go back to the platform and paced up and down to warm himself while the porters finished loading the luggage. He'd been keeping an eye on them while he was having breakfast, and by the time the conductor's whistle announced their departure he was certain that there had been no suspicious movements.

After the train left the station, Harry loitered in the corridor for a while, looking at the scenery. They were in a valley between two mountains and when they crossed a bridge over a river the view was breathtaking.

He was lost in daydreams for a few minutes but eventually came back to reality when Mrs. Simplon softly pointed out that he was blocking the passage. Murmuring an apology, Harry stepped aside to let her and the twin girls pass. The girls, wearing identical frilly dresses and pigtails, were chattering happily about all the things they'd do while on holiday.

It reminded Harry that _he_ wasn't on holiday, worse luck, so he headed back to his cabin. He was in no mood to run into Malfoy again, but he needed to get his case files and cross-reference them with the passenger list that he'd obtained from the conductor.

Malfoy was sitting in one of the armchairs – the bedroom had been changed back into a sitting room – but he turned aside when Harry entered and he pretended to be fully engrossed in the book he was reading.

That suited Harry just fine. He retrieved the files he'd hidden at the bottom of the wardrobe and, after checking that they'd been undisturbed and that nobody had set off the warding charms placed on them, Harry transfigured them back into their original shape. Then he unfolded the large map of Europe and wrapped it around the folders to hide them from view.

There wasn't much room for Harry to maneuver, because he had to stay behind the wardrobe door so Malfoy couldn't see what he was doing, and the result looked somewhat like a badly gift-wrapped present, but it would attract much less attention than walking around with a bunch of folders.

Harry tucked the bundle under his arms and left the cabin and Malfoy behind. From last night's conversation with the conductor, he now had a very good idea of the train's layout. Aside from the restaurant the passengers had several cars at their disposal, such as a café, a billiard room, and a salon.

Reasoning that most passengers would be getting breakfast in the restaurant at the moment, Harry headed towards the salon car at the end of the train. He'd expected something similar to his cabin, with armchairs and writing desks, but the salon looked rather like a conservatory instead.

The carriage was filled with a variety of exotic plants and flowers whose name Harry didn't know. The walls and the roof were glass: on one side of the carriage Harry could see the mountainside they were climbing, on the other side there was a view of the river below. It had to be an illusion, because from the outside of the train all the carriages looked perfectly ordinary, but it was a very clever one.

Aside from an elderly couple sitting near the entrance, Harry had the place to himself. He chose a bench that was half-hidden behind a large fern and spread out his case files on the seat next to him.

Thanks to the conductor's help, he could now put names to the faces he'd seen. The list of names was very long, but really Harry was only interested in people who were traveling as far as Bulgaria. Those turned out to be fewer that he'd thought at first: only Mr. and Mrs. Dobrescu were headed to Sofia, so they had been put in the no. 1 and no. 2 suites in the London-Istanbul carriage.

Harry didn't think the Dobrescus had anything to do with the smuggling – they seemed too high profile – but with such a limited pool of suspects he wouldn't rule anyone out too quickly. If the occasion presented itself, Harry would have loved to have a look inside their cabins. The couple might have diplomatic immunity, though, so Harry would have to thread very carefully around them.

The remaining suspects were the other occupants of the London-Istanbul. It was possible that the smugglers had tickets for Istanbul but were planning to leave the train earlier in Bulgaria, or even that they'd simply move the cargo in Sofia and then remain aboard to establish an alibi of sorts.

Cabin no. 3 was Andy, or Mr. A. Cavendish as it was written on the list, and his mysterious companion who went by the name of Mr. U.N. Owen. Harry frowned at the piece of parchment in his hands. It was ludicrous, the name of a cartoon villain, and it made Harry even more curious to get a look at the unknown Owen.

The occupants of no. 4 were two middle-aged Greek women. Harry had seen them in the restaurant and in the corridors. They seemed innocuous enough, unless they planned to stab someone with the knitting needles they always carried around.

No. 5 and no. 6 were both marked as being occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Simplon and family. Harry crossed out his name and made a note that he wasn't on board. He could rule out the children at least. Though Harry was no good at guessing children's ages, they seemed a few years too young for Hogwarts, and several years too young for international smuggling.

Mrs. Simplon, Harry reflected, would have to be bloody insane to bring such a couple of unruly kids along during a criminal venture. But Harry knew nothing about her aside from the fact that she was married and she spoke with an American accent, so after some thought he left her among the suspects.

No. 8 were two German brothers with very impressive beards. They were salesmen of hair- and skin-care potions. Harry knew that because the previous day he'd heard them trying their sales pitch on the conductor in a heavily accented English. At least here was an opening that Harry could use to approach them: one mention of split hairs or dry skin and the brothers would be all too eager to talk to him.

That left, Harry thought with a sigh, only no. 7 to deal with. Harry added D. Malfoy to the list he'd been compiling and counted the names. There were ten in total, but if Harry had to bet the entire contents of his Gringotts vault on one person here being a smuggler, his money would be on Malfoy.

It wasn't until Harry checked his watch that he realized he had been sitting and staring at his note for hours, and the train was about to reach Stuttgart. He was very tempted to stay where he was: he felt like he was getting somewhere with his list, and what were the odds of the smugglers trying to move anything in broad daylight in a Muggle station? Eventually, though, Harry's better nature prevailed and he hastily gathered his things just as the train was starting to slow down.

The thing was, Harry reflected as he paced up and down on the platform, it was very unlikely that there was a single smuggler. Everything about this case seemed to suggest that they were dealing with a team of two or more people, all very experienced at escaping detection. The logical thing would be for two smugglers to share the same cabin: they could hide the dragon eggs in there and they could talk without the risk of being overheard.

After some thought, however, it also seemed possible that the smugglers could be traveling separately. Especially if one of the smugglers was Malfoy as he suspected. After all, before Harry's arrival, Malfoy had thought he wouldn't have to share his cabin with anyone.

Malfoy could have planned to hide the dragon eggs in there, while the second smuggler shared a cabin with someone else to reinforce the idea that he and Malfoy were strangers. Then, if either of them was discovered, the other would try to recover the dragon eggs and make off with them. It sounded plausible, and if this was the plan then Harry's arrival would have thrown a serious spanner into it.

The train only stopped in Stuttgart for a few minutes, and again Harry saw no sign of suspicious activity, aside from the kiosk which sold really terrible coffee for inflated prices. When the train left the station Harry returned to his seat in the conservatory and jotted down his thoughts about each of the suspects, and after some hesitation he rewrote his list so that Malfoy was on top of it.

He didn't think Malfoy was willing to risk having the contraband in no. 7. In that case they'd have moved the contraband either to the second smuggler's cabin or to the luggage car. Unbidden, Harry's mind flashed back to last night's dream about Malfoy and Andy being accomplishes. Could it be true? Was Malfoy's hostility just an act to throw off Harry's suspicious? It seemed less likely now that Andy had invited Harry to his cabin, he wouldn't have done that if he was hiding anything.

Then again the second smuggler could be U.N. Owen, who was unwilling to leave his cabin even for a minute. In that case Malfoy's actions could be interpreted as trying to stop Harry from being invited into no. 3, where his accomplice was hiding the eggs.

At this point Harry felt he'd restricted the list of suspects as much as he could given the information he had. The next step would be to search everyone's cabins and luggage. It would be dangerous, not to mention illegal, and Harry didn't relish the prospect at all.

The sun had climbed in the sky while Harry was working, but it wasn't until Harry checked his watch that he realized he was late for lunch. He stuffed everything back into the folders and hastily hid them under the map again. Breakfast had been hours ago and he suddenly realized that all his thinking had made him hungry.

Harry stopped by his cabin on his way to the restaurant. He'd only meant to drop off the folders and wash his hands, but when the door with the owl swung open he realized that there was nobody else inside. Of course, he realized, Malfoy would be having lunch in the restaurant at the moment.

The opportunity was too good to miss. As quickly as he could, Harry hurried to the closet and threw open the door. Malfoy's trunks were locked, but a simple Alohomora did the trick. Harry started checking them for suspicious items or hidden cabins. He was methodical as he worked, only ever opening one at a time and making sure to put everything back just as it was.

There was a bundle of letters in a small case. Feeling only slightly embarrassed about it, Harry opened and scanned them as quickly as he could. They were full of information, but it wasn't information of the kind that Harry needed, or wanted. Most of them were from Narcissa, who was currently staying with relatives in France. She warned Malfoy about eating too much spicy food and asked him if he'd thought about settling down. It would have been too easy if they said 'dear son, please be careful with the stolen dragon eggs,' Harry thought while he put them back.

Malfoy had brought a lot of clothing, as if he was moving houses rather than just going on holiday. Harry levitated the contents of the trunks while he checked the bottoms for hidden panels, but couldn't find anything. He even went and checked the pockets of Malfoy's jacket, but all he found was a crumpled receipt for croissants.

In another trunk, a pile of books stood next to an assortment of bath salts and soaps. Harry opened all the bottles and rifled through the pages of the book. All he found out was that Malfoy's soap smelled like citrus and that he liked to read about wand lore. Harry was about to give up the pointless search when, at the bottom of the trunk under the very last book, he found a handful of old train tickets.

Picking them up, Harry saw that most of them were for the European Express. Malfoy had traveled on the London-Istanbul route several times in the past year, according to the dates stamped on the back of each ticket. Finally there was something Harry could use, if only he could cross-reference those tickets with the timeline of previous smuggling incidents.

It was getting late, and at any moment Malfoy could return from lunch. Harry stuffed the tickets in his pocket and put everything else back as he'd found it. He hadn't really expected to find anything incriminating and so his discovery of the tickets was a welcome stroke of luck. He made a note of his findings next to the suspect list, which he hid again at the bottom of the wardrobe, and finally headed to lunch.

It turned out that Harry hadn't needed to hurry his search after all. Malfoy was still sitting at his table, pushing a few carrots around his plate. He glanced up when Harry pulled out a chair, then went back to ignoring him and playing with his food.

The waitress arrived with Harry's entrée. "Should I bring your dessert now?" she asked Malfoy. "Or would you rather wait for your friend, since he's arrived?"

"No, go ahead," Harry said, looking up from his pasta.

Malfoy fidgeted. "It's all right, I'll wait," he told the waitress. "Could you bring us some more wine?"

Harry sighed. They were doing the civil thing again. Malfoy ventured a couple of remarks about the weather and Harry replied in kind, but there weren't many other safe subjects so the conversation quickly died.

At least the food was delicious. Good to know Harry would have a full stomach when he was arrested for trespassing. He ate quickly, feeling uneasy in Malfoy's presence now that he'd gone through his things.

Finally, as the train was passing through a forest, the waitress brought their puddings.

"Black Forest cake," Malfoy muttered, poking the enormous slice on his plate with a tiny dessert fork. "I should've known…"

"You don't like it?" Harry asked through a mouthful of cake. He'd never seen Malfoy refusing sweets before.

Malfoy shrugged. "I don't dislike it," he said as he started to eat. "It's just that the chef's menu is dreadfully predictable." Seeing Harry's blank stare, he pointed at the window with his fork. "Black Forest." He pointed to his plate. "Black Forest cake."

"Oh," Harry said. He hadn't even noticed that they'd crossed into Germany. The train was very convenient if one wanted to avoid border inspections.

"We'll be in Austria tonight," Malfoy said around bites of cake. "I'll bet you anything we'll have Sachertorte for dessert. I guess it's fine for first-timers, but every time I take this train I feel like buying the chef a cookbook so he can get some new ideas."

Half of Harry's cake was still on his plate and he was already stuffed. The combination of chocolate and cherries and whipped cream was lethal, and he thought that if he swallowed another bite he'd be unable to move for the rest of the day. It was simply too delicious to leave, though, so Harry ended up finishing it all and washing it down with half a glass of Malfoy's rather good sparkling wine.

"As a first-timer," Harry said setting down his glass, "I say it's excellent." He tried not to think about Malfoy's tickets, still in his pocket.

Malfoy nodded. "It is excellent."

It was such an unusual occurrence, the two of them agreeing on anything, that Harry decided not to ruin it. They relapsed into silence as they finished the meal and drank their coffee. It was quiet inside the restaurant, which by then was almost empty.

Harry was afraid Malfoy would hang around to try and maintain the pretense that they were on good terms, but luckily after lunch Malfoy mentioned some letters he wanted to finish and disappeared towards the café. Harry walked back towards their cabin on his own.

On the way he passed no. 3, Andy's cabin. He hadn't seen Andy at lunch, but he thought now was as good a time as any to talk to him and maybe have a look inside. He knocked on the door and the carved squirrels jumped up and down in surprise.

"I don't vont room service," said someone from inside. "Go avay!"

That had to be the unsociable roommate, Mr. U.N. Owen. Harry tried knocking again. "I'm looking for Andy," he called, but there was no further reply.

As he walked towards his cabin, Harry stepped aside to make way for the two bearded men from no. 8. Suddenly he remembered Malfoy's train tickets, still in his pocket. Harry waited until the two men were out of sight and then he hurried past his own door.

Harry stopped in front of door no. 8, which was decorated with flying geese. First he tried showing the geese his own ticket, but as expected the door remained firmly shut. However he remembered that Malfoy's tickets had several different numbers on them. Sure enough, there was a ticket from last winter for 'London-Istanbul, cabin no. 8, lower berth'.

When Harry held the ticket up, the door clicked open. Heart beating with excitement, Harry slipped inside. The cabin was identical to Harry's, with a couple of armchairs and a writing desk, only it didn't look quite so tidy: there was a cloak thrown over a chair and an assortment of bottles strewn over the table.

The first thing Harry did was rigging an Extendable Ear under the door, so that he would be alerted of anyone approaching. Then he started going through the room as methodically as he could. As he worked, he was reminded of something his instructor had said during training. "If you're making a search you better hope your suspect is tidy," the older Auror had said. "Messy criminals are a pain in the neck, you never know where they put things and you never remember where to put them back."

Those two were certainly messy, Harry thought, but by the time he'd finished he wasn't so sure that they were criminals. The only objectionable thing he'd found was an assortment of pungent-smelling pomades. Even his Sneakoscope, which was prone to setting off at odd times, remained quiet.

Footsteps in the corridor made him jump, but they went past the door without stopping. Harry waited until he couldn't hear anything outside, then hurried back to his cabin. Finding Malfoy's tickets had been a real stroke of luck, he thought, adding a checkmark next to cabin no. 8 in his list.

He wondered if anyone knew that the doors could be opened with old tickets. It was a serious security issue and the train company would have to be alerted – after Harry's investigation was over.

For the time being, Harry didn't want to risk breaking into any more cabins. It would be safer to do that at meal times while everyone was in the restaurant. He decided to return to the conservatory and see if he could talk with any of the suspects on his list.

Once there, Harry had an unwelcome surprise: Malfoy was seated under a large potted plant, a long roll of parchment spread out on his knees. He looked up at Harry's entrance, and after some hesitation he scooted aside and motioned for him to sit down.

Harry was tempted to double back, but the diminutive lady sitting on the bench opposite was watching them with eagle eyes and he didn't dare to 'cause a scene' as Malfoy would have put it. He plopped down on the bench and suppressed a sigh.

"I thought you said you were going to the café," he said.

Malfoy gave a long-suffering sigh. "That was the plan, but the place was so noisy I couldn't concentrate."

Harry made a non-committal noise, but it seemed that Malfoy was itching to go on a rant. He pushed aside the letter and turned towards Harry, pouting. "It was the Simplons," he hissed in an undertone. "Those girls were throwing a tantrum _again_."

"Children nowadays…" Harry muttered.

Malfoy ignored the sarcasm. "They were crying because there was no orange juice. Can you believe it? What's wrong with pumpkin juice?"

"I like orange juice," Harry put in, just to be annoying.

"That's not the point at all," Malfoy snapped. "I bet their father is always too busy to have time for them, so he ended up spoiling them. The poor woman was nearly at her wits end, asking everybody if orange juice can be bought in Istanbul. Urgh, it was so noisy, I couldn't get anything done at all!"

"It's a small train," Harry muttered. "It's inevitable to run into the same people all the time, even when you don't like each other," he added with a pointed look.

Malfoy huffed. "Yes, really," he said, turning back to his letter-writing.

It was rather quiet in the conservatory. Maybe it would have been better to go and sit in the café where most of the other travelers gathered. However Harry recognized the small lady sitting on the bench opposite them as one of the occupants of no. 4. She was knitting, as usual, some woolen monstrosity that Harry couldn't figure out; it seemed to be a sweater, though it couldn't have been meant for any human because it had far too many arms.

Harry would have liked to talk to her, but he wasn't even sure if she spoke English at all. He'd brought the mystery book with him, the one he'd been reading the previous day, and hid behind it while he thought of a way to naturally start a conversation with a stranger.

The book however proved to be very distracting. The protagonists had finally called the Aurors to the crime scene but the Aurors were acting completely wrong. Harry cringed every time one of them said anything. Even Aurors in training knew more about crime scene procedure than those characters. He checked the year the book had been written: it was several decades ago, but Harry really doubted that investigations had been so sloppy, even back then…

"Potter, are you aware that it's really extremely annoying?" Malfoy asked.

"It is," Harry muttered, having reached a particularly irritating paragraph in which they were trying to arrest the cellist, who was clearly innocent.

"If you know it's annoying," Malfoy snapped, "then why are you doing it?"

"Doing what?" Harry asked, emerging from the book and staring at Malfoy. "What are you talking about?"

"That… noise, Potter," Malfoy said, wrinkling his nose. "That _tsk_ ing noise you keep making. It's grating on my nerves."

Harry hadn't even realized. "It's this book," he said. "The Auror characters are bumbling morons. They don't know anything about procedure, they trampled all over the crime scene, they didn't even secure the suspects' wands…"

"You just did that noise again," Malfoy said. He snorted. "Potter, it's _fiction_. Nobody cares if it's realistic or not!"

"Well, I care," Harry said. He skimmed the next few paragraphs. This Auror scene seemed to go on forever.

Malfoy dipped his quill in the inkwell with more force than necessary, almost upturning it. "Urgh," he said, vanishing some ink that had spilled on his pants. "If you don't like it then just stop reading!"

"It was fine until now," Harry pointed out. "And I want to know who's the real murderer. I bet it was the potion master, because he's secretly the victim's third cousin."

"Oh, you are so, so wrong," Malfoy muttered with a smirk. He bent down over his letter, feigning disinterest.

Harry stared at his profile. "What do you mean, wrong? How would you even know?"

"I have been known to read, on occasion," Malfoy said, still smirking. "And you're wrong both on the potions master being the murderer, and on him being the missing cousin."

Harry just gaped at him. The whole conversation felt surreal. He couldn't believe his deductions were so far off the mark – he thought that the rare poison inside the victim's Firewhiskey was a definite clue! But mostly he couldn't believe that Malfoy, who had dozens of ponderous tomes about wand lore in his trunk, also read silly murder mysteries in his spare time.

"Speaking of bumbling Aurors," Malfoy continued, "I'll have you know that the victim's cousin…"

"Oh, do not ruin him the surprise!" exclaimed a woman's voice.

Harry and Malfoy looked up, startled. The knitting lady had paused her knitting and was now shaking her finger at Malfoy. "Pardon?" Malfoy asked.

"It's naughty of you to tell him the end of the book," she said reproachfully. "The end is very good, I thought," she added with a smile, turning to Harry. "You will like."

"I'm not…" Malfoy spluttered. His cheeks were turning crimson. "That's…"

"She's right, Malfoy, don't spoil the end of the book," Harry said, suppressing a grin. "It's not _polite_."

While Malfoy fumed, Harry and the woman talked about other mystery books. It turned out that Miss Costas was a huge fan of what she called 'the lady detective' and had read all the books featuring that character. She suggested many other titles which, she said, Harry would like much more because there were no silly Aurors.

"The lady detective is often stranded at the house of friends, or on the island," she explained. "The Aurors can not be there, and so she investigates with her friend."

The lady detective seemed to find herself involved in an improbably high number of murders, so much that Harry wouldn't rule out the option that she'd committed a few of them. He didn't say that out loud, though, instead thanking Miss Costas for her suggestions.

"Your English is very good," he remarked at one point.

Miss Costas chuckled. "It is my job," she said. "In my youth I studied many languages and I read the books of the lady detective to practice the English. I worked on the Babel Charm, you see."

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"The translating charm. We wanted to find an enchantment that can make people understand each other, even if they speak different languages."

"That would have been very useful to me at breakfast," Harry joked.

"But," Malfoy chimed in, "I thought Artax's Corollary stated that there are some very strict requirements for translation charms. That they work only for written text, and in very specific circumstances."

"That is true," Miss Costas said. "Alas when we started the work on the Babel Charm, my friend hadn't discovered that particular corollary yet. The Babel Charm was a failure, you could say, but we did learn much about language and spellwork in general, as well as the proper care of tropical fish, so… Oh, speaking of Agatha, I see it is now time for our afternoon tea…"

She said her goodbyes, and Harry helped her retrieve a ball of yarn that had rolled behind a huge potted cactus. Malfoy sat still where he was. He appeared to have been struck dumb.

"See?" Harry said after Miss Costas had gone. He sucked on two of his fingers, which had had a rather close encounter with the cactus. "She was nice enough. Not all the people you meet while traveling are completely awful."

Malfoy was still staring at the carriage door. "Do you know who that was?" he said in a slightly strangled voice. "That was Constantina Costas. She's famous! Does this mean the other knitting old bat is Agatha Artax?"

"Yes," Harry answered before he remembered he wasn't supposed to have a list of all passengers' names "I mean, er, I think I heard someone call her that."

"And you didn't recognize the name? She's one of the foremost researchers in the field of advanced magical theory," Malfoy said. "Urgh, higher education was wasted on you, Potter.

Harry thought about it, but the names meant nothing to him. He hadn't been bad at Charms in school, at least not as bad as Malfoy implied, but he'd always been better with practice rather than theory. If what Malfoy said was true, however, Harry could strike the two women from his suspect list. He doubted that those renowned experts of magic would also have a smuggling business on the side.

The train was still crossing the Black Forest. In fact, Harry noticed that the trees seemed to have got very close to the windows now. The European Express seemed once again to be traveling along rails that were impossible to follow for Muggle trains, zooming around ancient oaks and leaping over small brooks. This time however Harry didn't comment on it: no doubt Malfoy would have just mocked his ignorance again if he did.

Instead, Harry glanced at the piece of parchment in Malfoy's lap. The parchment seemed to magically lengthen itself as soon as Malfoy got to the end of it, which was very useful since at a guess whatever Malfoy was writing had to be around five feet long by now.

"What are you writing?" Harry asked.

"Letters," Malfoy said, in a long-suffering tone, as if this single word took him a great deal of effort.

"A lot of letters? Or a very long one?"

"Several letters," Malfoy replied, curtly. "And before you ask ' _why_ ' like a nosy child, it's because I like to correspond with my friends while traveling."

"That's a long letter," Harry said, trying to read it upside-down. ""Do you always give your friends so many details about your travels?"

Malfoy tapped the parchment sharply with his wand and it rolled closed. Not that Harry had been able to read it, since Malfoy had tiny handwriting. All he'd been able to make out was a table, at the end, which looked suspiciously like a train schedule.

"Of course," Malfoy huffed, "you wouldn't care about insignificant details, Potter." Before Harry could reply, Malfoy checked his pocket watch and got up. "Now if you're quite done wasting my time with your inane questions, I want to send an owl from the next station and we're about to arrive."

He stormed off and Harry was left with plenty to think about. Who was Malfoy writing to, and why did he feel the need to include a copy of the train's schedule?

The next station was literally in the middle of nowhere, given that the village of Nirgendorf was inside the forest and miles away from other settlements, Muggle or otherwise. Despite the isolation there were quite a lot of people getting on and off the train and the station was crowded.

The reason for Nirgendorf's popularity became clear to Harry when a couple of sullen dwarfs handed him a pamphlet advertising the 'Annual Gnome Festival (Fun For The Whole Family)' which was held nearby. He didn't know if the dwarfs understood English, since they seemed to communicate mostly in grunts, but somehow he managed to explain that he wasn't interested in the festival because his train was only passing through.

The dwarfs went to bother someone else, and Harry concentrated on the loading and unloading of the passengers' luggage. The problem was that the longer Harry was on the European Express, the more likely it was that the smugglers would recognize him, if they hadn't already. Therefore at each station the likelihood increased that they would try to move the cargo, or that they would at least try to flee themselves.

Everything seemed quiet at the present, however. Harry walked up and down on the platform a few times, keeping an eye on the proceedings, and he was about to buy himself an ice cream from a stand when Malfoy walked off the train.

"I thought you'd gone to the post office," Harry called.

Malfoy looked like he would have very much liked to ignore Harry, but since Harry stood directly between him and the station's exit, he couldn't really do that without being uncivil.

"Yes, well," Malfoy huffed. "I did. Only when I was about to pay I realized I'd forgotten my wallet, so I had to go back." He jangled it in front of Harry's nose. "Here's the evidence. Are you keeping tabs on me now?"

"I'm not," Harry said. The suggestion was ridiculous… except for the part where he kind of was, because Malfoy was still one of his top suspects. "I'm just stretching my legs," Harry muttered.

Malfoy made a show of looking down at Harry's legs, and Harry had to remind himself that Malfoy was definitely not checking him out. It was just the prelude to some jab at Harry. And Harry should stop checking out Malfoy, no matter how good the git looked in his peacoat and tight trousers.

"So, did you say goodbye to your boyfriend?" Malfoy asked with a smirk.

"What?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling lost. What had they been talking about?

"I mean the appalling man with the appalling Australian accent," Malfoy replied.

"You mean Andy?" Harry asked. "Seriously, Malfoy, 'my boyfriend'? Are you twelve?"

"Whatever," Malfoy replied, proving that his mental age was ten at best. "Now that he's gone, have you thought about moving in with his secretive companion? It would be best for everyone, really. Apart from said companion, but apparently he hates all of humanity, so it won't make any difference to have you in his cabin instead of Australia…"

Finally Harry seemed to grasp the meaning of the conversation. "You mean that Andy is getting off the train?" he asked. His heart started pounding. "He can't be, he's got a ticket to Istanbul… I mean," he quickly amended, "he's on the London-Istanbul, I thought he'd be traveling all the way there…"

Malfoy considered this. "You're right," he said, pulling a face. "Maybe he's decided to do us all a favour and get off early? He had this huge backpack on his shoulders, I don't think he'd have brought that around if he was just going to stretch his legs."

"No, he wouldn't," Harry murmured. He tried to keep his voice level. "When did you see him? And where?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Dunno, ten minutes ago maybe? He was outside the Owl Office as I came out. Don't be so heartbroken, you'll have other chances to get laid."

Harry's mind was racing. Assuming Andy had made off with the eggs, he could be anywhere by now. The nearby festival would no doubt provide him with plenty of opportunities to escape. He could have had a broomstick waiting, or he could have taken a Portkey to who knew where. Maybe he could narrow it down if someone had seen which way Andy went.

"I have to go buy stamps," Harry announced suddenly, setting off towards the Owl Office at a quick pace.

"What are stamps?" Malfoy asked, hurrying after him.

"I meant postcards," Harry corrected himself. "Why are you following me?"

"I'm not!" Malfoy exclaimed. "I still need to send an owl, remember?"

Harry ignored him, his mind full of contingency plans. He'd have to get in touch with the German Ministry first, to alert them of the situation and to ask that they shut down all outgoing Portkeys. Then he'd have to report back to London and ask for immediate backup; there was no way to keep this from spiraling into a full-blown international incident any more.

As they reached the Owl Office, Harry stopped in his tracks. Andy was inside, chatting with the Postmaster.

Malfoy walked straight into Harry. "What's the matter with you, Potter?"

Just then Andy turned around and spotted Harry. He grinned and waved through the store window.

Harry waved back, slightly stunned. He walked inside.

"Hello," said Andy. He ran a hand through his hair, which was already standing on end. "I'm trying to send this to my family but I'm having some trouble. Do you know how to say 'owl' in German?"

"I keep telling you, sir," the Postmaster said in clipped tones and perfect English. "I understand what you want to do. It's just that you _can't_. It's a matter of size, we don't have an owl that can carry it!"

She pointed an accusatory finger towards Andy's backpack, which was sitting on one side of a large brass scale behind the counter. The backpack was neon green and orange, and huge, and seemingly about to burst at the seams. Several brass cubes were fruitlessly trying to balance its weight at the other side of the scale.

"Wow," said Harry. "Are you trying to mail all of your luggage?"

Andy laughed. "It's just a few souvenirs I picked up here and there. They're kinda cumbersome though, so I thought best to send them on."

Malfoy, who had followed Harry inside, sounded rather disappointed by the discovery that Andy wouldn't be leaving after all.

"You can't send _that_!" the harried Postmaster was crying. "No owl could carry that weight to Stuttgart, let alone all the way to Sydney!" The dozen or so owls lined along the back of the room looked rather alarmed at the prospect.

"Please?" Andy asked with an endearing smile. "Money is no issue."

He eventually agreed to mail the contents of the backpack as several separate items. The Postmaster conjured a stack of boxes on the counter and went to see which rest stops could be arranged for the owls along the way.

By then, Harry was itching to have a look inside this mysterious backpack. He figured there wouldn't be any contraband – not even an amateur would try to send Class A Non-Tradeable Goods through the post, whether to Australia or elsewhere – but he was very curious nevertheless.

Malfoy was antsy for a different reason. "I've just got one letter to mail, so would you mind hurrying up with your bag's grand tour?"

"I'll help you pack everything," Harry said quickly.

Andy beamed. "Would you? That's brilliant. Everything's got bubble charms already so can you just help me with the boxes?" He muttered a _Wingardium Leviosa_ and the backpack floated up and settled on the counter, bouncing slightly. Andy opened it with some difficulty and started moving its contents into the boxes.

Inside the backpack was an assorted miscellany of items. Harry was no great expert but he thought they looked more like pieces of art than random souvenirs. Each item was surrounded by an invisible bubble that prevented it from banging against the other items. Harry picked one up experimentally, a blue-and-white porcelain dove: it was like touching rubber.

Malfoy glanced over Harry's shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "Well, well," he murmured in an undertone. "Looks like Australia is rather more well-off than his clothes would make him look. Yet another thing that you two have in common."

Harry put the dove in a box, along with a few bottles filled with what looked like coloured sand. The sand shifted and formed different pictures as he was looking. "Really?" he asked. He sneaked a glance at Andy, who was carelessly tossing things inside another box. "Those don't look expensive to me."

"Yes, but then again you don't look like an expert on polychrome glazes to me," Malfoy sneered.

Harry glared. "Like you are?"

"I know enough. That one, too," he added quietly, pointing to a shawl that Andy was folding. It shimmered like the wings of a butterfly. "Handmade Spanish silk. Your friend is either a connoisseur or he raided someone's collection."

"Stop pretending to know everything," Harry hissed. He glanced at Andy, hoping he hadn't heard, but Andy was whistling as he worked and seemed completely oblivious. "You're an arse," Harry added to Malfoy.

"Pardon me for trying to make conversation," Malfoy replied. "I'll leave to your ignorance."

He moved to one side and started perusing a rack of garish postcards.

Harry shook his head and went on packing Andy's things. It was true that he was no expert, but even he could see that his collection of souvenirs was rather nice and would have cost a hefty amount of galleons. Not to mention the sum he was paying to have everything owled all the way to Australia.

In fact, Harry did a few mental sums and concluded that it would have been more profitable for Andy to sell his knick-knacks than to smuggle dragon eggs, with all the risks that comported. It was possible that he used the smuggling to finance his purchases, but how likely was it that a criminal would carry all that useless weight around while doing a job? As a suspect, Andy seemed less and less likely.

Harry was privately relieved: he wasn't going to sleep with Andy, no matter what Malfoy chose to insinuate, but he liked the guy's cheerfulness and his friendly attitude.

"How about this one?" Malfoy asked, waving a postcard at Harry.

Harry took a look at it. It depicted a bunch of cartoonish, grumpy gnomes, and still somehow sported the inscription 'Wish You Were Here'. "Ew," he said.

"That's what I thought," Malfoy said. "They look a bit like you, minus the glasses. You should get it."

"What for?" Harry replied. He had a look around. All of Andy's things were packed away and the Postmaster was closing the last few boxes with yards and yards of string.

"You said you wanted postcards," Malfoy reminded him. "Madam, how long is this going to take? I haven't sent my letter yet and our train is about to leave."

Between his earlier panic that Andy was fleeing with the eggs and his relief when he discovered that wasn't the case, Harry had completely lost track of time. He checked his watch. There were still fifteen minutes before the train would leave, and Harry realized with dismay that the luggage car had been completely unsupervised for a while now.

"Yeah," Harry said. "We really ought to go back. In fact, I think I'll go ahead…"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to hold you guys up!" Andy exclaimed. "Here, you send your letter, I'll finish posting my stuff later," he told Malfoy. "Thanks, Harry, you were a huge help."

"No, er, well, your things are packed already so I really should…" Harry mumbled, retreating towards the door.

"What, changed your mind about the postcards? You were in such a hurry earlier?" Malfoy said. He narrowed his eyes. "Merlin, Potter, you're weird."

Andy was also giving him a quizzical look. "Yeah, don't worry, there's still plenty of time for the train."

In the end, it was quicker for Harry to keep up the pretense. He grabbed three or four postcards at random, foiling Malfoy's attempts to make him buy the ugly gnome one, and tossed them on the counter. On a whim he asked how long it would take for a postcard to reach the UK, and after finding out it would arrive by next morning, he scribbled a few lines to keep the other Aurors updated about the situation.

He couldn't write anything too obvious, not with Malfoy next to him, so he addressed it to Ron and remained as vague as he could.

 _Hi Ron_ , Harry wrote, _holiday is OK so far, lots of interesting people on the train. Haven't seen Norbert yet but I think we'll meet tomorrow. I'll let you know when I reach Istanbul. –Harry_

"Who's Norbert?" Malfoy asked, squinting at Harry's handwriting.

"Friend of mine who's supposed to be on the train," Harry replied, feeling particularly pleased with himself. "You mind your own business."

He paid the Postmaster and said goodbye to Andy, who was staying behind to finish dispatching all of his things. Much to Harry's annoyance, Malfoy hadn't immediately left the Owl Office after sending his letter, and instead he waited for Harry so they could walk back to the train together.

Malfoy seemed very committed to his plan of acting civil to Harry, because he kept stopping and pointing at various souvenir displays.

"I don't want a mug shaped like a gnome," Harry said for what he felt was the hundredth time, dragging Malfoy away. He could see the train engine in the distance. Why wouldn't Malfoy hurry up?

"Aww, but it looked like you!" Malfoy exclaimed.

"That's what you keep saying," Harry said between clenched teeth. "But somehow I don't see it."

"Just look," Malfoy said, pointing to a really ugly row of miniature gnomes that were marching up and down in a shop window. "They're short and grumpy and they have scruffy hair…"

"What's with those people and gnomes?" Harry muttered.

"Look, novelty shirts!" Malfoy said gleefully, pointing to a rack of clothes outside a store. "Hold on, I'm going to see if there's one that says 'I'm With Stupid'. I can wear it tonight at dinner," he added with a smirk.

"Hilarious," Harry replied. "I'll just go ahead."

"You're no fun," Malfoy said, but he stopped pawing through the shirts and resumed walking.

"If you shut up I'll get you an 'I'm With Stupid' shirt for your birthday," Harry offered.

Malfoy snorted. "That's no good, I won't have any chance to wear it if you're not around. Besides do you even know my birthday?"

They had finally arrived back at the platform. Most of the earlier crowd had dispersed and the place was relatively quiet. In fact, the porters seemed to have nothing left to do because they were playing a round of Exploding Snap with the stationmaster.

"Oh, er," Harry said. "Your birthday? Isn't that in, er, December?"

"Not even close," Malfoy replied. He brushed past Harry and disappeared inside the train.

For a moment Harry wondered whether Malfoy and Andy were in it together, whether they had plotted to distract him while a third member of the gang moved the dragon eggs, but he had to admit that the theory was very far-fetched. He might as well believe that the whole train was in on the smuggling.

The entire operation was based on little more than speculation: suppose that the stolen dragon eggs are on the train, suppose that the smugglers won't make a move until they reached Bulgaria… Harry would just have to hope that it was true, and that both smugglers and eggs were still somewhere on the train. He'd have to find them quickly, though, because time was running out: they'd been in Sofia tomorrow afternoon.

Andy showed up barely in time to catch the train. He grinned at the conductor, ignoring his warning scowl.

"What's that?" Harry asked as they boarded, pointing to a large wooden toadstool that Andy was carrying under his arm.

"Oh, you know," Andy said, looking rather sheepish. "I've got so much space now, so I thought why not… It's handpainted and one-of-a-kind, look!"

Harry laughed. "You'll have to dispatch another flock of owls very soon if you don't stop."

Andy just shook his head ruefully. "I know, I know." They had reached his cabin, so he started patting his pockets. "Hey, Harry, we should… oh, hex, where did I put it?"

"What's the matter?" Harry asked.

"I can't find my ticket," Andy said. He tried knocking on the door but there was no answer. "Hey, I know you're in there!" he called. "Open up!"

The conductor, who was passing by, saw the scene. "If you're looking for the gentleman who's sharing with you, Monsieur Owen, I believe I saw him just before we left Nirgendorf. He was headed towards the front of the train."

Andy rolled his eyes. "Typical. Guy spends the whole journey holed in, but the moment I need him he's not around."

"Andy lost his ticket and can't get into his cabin," Harry explained. "Can you help?"

"Certainly, _messieurs_ ," the conductor said "I can unlock the door with my pass. Is your ticket inside?"

"I don't think so, no," Andy said. "I think I accidentally mailed it to my folks in Sydney," he added with a self-deprecating laugh.

The conductor suppressed a sigh. "In that case I'll need to issue a new ticket. It will take a few minutes. Could you please follow me to my office?"

Andy nodded. "Hey, Harry, mind keeping an eye on my toadstool?" he added, setting the sculpture down on the carpet with a muffled thud. Harry nodded and Andy gave him a thumbs up. "Great, thanks! Don't go anywhere, we can have a proper chat later and get to know each other."

"Yeah, sure," Harry replied. He had suddenly realized that cabin no. 3 was empty, and would likely remain so for a short while. It was as good an opportunity as he was ever going to get.

He waited until Andy and the conductor were out of sight before fishing in his pockets for Malfoy's old train tickets. Luckily there was one for no. 3 too – he'd have to thank Malfoy for being a frequent traveler.

The door clicked open and Harry slipped inside. He hadn't thought to bring his Sneakoscope or anything, but there was no time to fetch them: he'd have to rely on his instinct.

The inside of no. 3 looked like the other cabins Harry had seen, only a lot more cluttered. There were lots of bags and cases piled in the corners and behind the armchairs, filled to the brim with Andy's souvenirs. No wonder Andy said he was running out of space!

The writing desk caught Harry's eye. It was full of newspapers, dating back a few weeks, and some articles had been cut out and set aside. Harry scanned them carefully: they were written in some Slavic language Harry couldn't read, but they didn't seem to be about his case at all. In fact, from a couple of accompanying photos, Harry guessed the articles were all about quidditch. Maybe Mr. Owen was a sports fanatic.

Hidden behind the cut-out articles, Harry found a passport. It was written in Cyrillic, too, but Harry's pulse quickened when he recognized the characters for 'Republic of Bulgaria' on the front, which he'd memorized during the course of his investigation. He opened it and felt his suspicions confirmed. The scowling man in the photo was definitely familiar.

Harry squinted at the name on the passport: Иван Волков. Where had he seen this man before? Was he one of the suspects in his case folder? Or was he a member of some international gang he'd met during another investigation?

With his limited knowledge of Cyrillic, Harry tried sounding out the name to make sense of it. "N… no, that's an I… I… va… Ivan," he muttered. "Vo… which one's that? P? No, that's an L… Volk…" Harry's eyes fell on the newspaper articles again and the knut dropped. "Oh, damn it."

Just then, the door slammed open. Harry jumped and turned around. He'd forgotten to check for approaching footsteps with his Extendable Ears.

Ivan Volkov himself, Bulgarian quidditch player and international celebrity, stood in the doorway scowling at Harry.

"You! Vot are you doing in my room?" he asked.

"Er," Harry said. He hastily put down Volkov's passport. "I'm, er, I was waiting for Andy. The door was open," he added quickly.

"It vos not!" Volkov said. He pointed an accusatory finger and advanced on Harry. "Who are you? Are you one of the crazy fans? Haff you been stalking me?"

He was at least one head taller than Harry and built like a sack of bricks. If he decided to attack Harry, he wouldn't even need his wand to knock him out cold.

Harry raised his hands in what he hoped was the international gesture for 'I am not a crazy fan'. "There's no need to need to come to any hasty conclusions," he said. "I'm sorry I came in, that was wrong of me, but I swear I'm not stalking you."

Volkov harrumphed. "That is vot all stalkers said. 'Oh, Vanko, it is a coincidence that I am naked in your bed and covered with fig syrup!'" He closed his eyes and shuddered. "Not even using false name helps! I haff had it now, I vill call the Aurors!"

The conductor chose that moment to peer inside the cabin. "Is everything all right, _messieurs_?" he asked, on the far-off chance that the answer would be affirmative. Andy hovered behind him, shooting quizzical looks to Harry and Volkov in turn.

"Everything's fine," Harry said, while at the same time Volkov cried, "No it's not!"

"I was just waiting for my friend," Harry tried to explain, hoping Andy would back up his story without asking for details, but Volkov cut him off.

"I vont him arrested!" he exclaimed. His face was turning an alarming shade of puce. "I step outside for vun moment to get the newspapers and vhen I return he is going through my things."

"I was just looking at these newspaper articles, they caught my eye," Harry tried to defend himself. "I'm not your fan! I mean, er, I really like how you play, but I'm not that kind of, er, crazy fan. I don't even like fig syrup! I'm Harry Potter," he added, seized by a sudden idea, "Viktor Krum is a friend of mine."

The conductor and Andy looked somewhat confused by this whole conversation. Volkov frowned. "Viktor?" he repeated.

"Yes," Harry said, hopefully. "I've known him for years."

"I don't believe you!" Volkov exclaimed. "You break into my room and now you say you're a famous English vizard and you know Viktor… You're a mytho-main!"

"Er, actually, _monsieur_ ," the conductor put in. "He really is Harry Potter."

"Vot?"

"For real?" said Andy. "Harry, you should've told me you were famous!"

The commotion was starting to attract a small crowd. Even Malfoy had showed up and was looking rather amused by the whole scene.

"Volkov, I'm really sorry," Harry said. "I know what's like to have people staring wherever you go and I'm not trying to harass you, honest. I just…"

"He was just waiting for me, isn't that right Harry?" Andy said, winking.

Harry nodded, grateful. "That's it."

"I mean," Andy continued, "this is Owen's cabin, or Volkov's, or whatever his name is, but it's also mine, and I can invite in whoever I choose. And if you don't like it, you can lump it, mate," he added, to Volkov.

Volkov scowled, not yet fully convinced. "You svear that no fig syrup is involved? At all?"

"I swear," Harry said quickly.

Volkov grunted. "Very vell. Now get out, all of you!" he exclaimed, making a shooing gesture towards the door.

"Hey, wait a minute," Andy said. "I just said this is also my cabin and if I want to invite Harry…"

"No, it's fine," Harry said. He ducked past Volkov and made a speedy retreat, dragging Andy out with him. "If it helps, I thought the Vratsa Vultures made a mistake in selling you last season, you're much better than Vulchanov and…"

Volvok slammed the door in Harry's face.

The conductor was almost fainting with relief now that the situation had been resolved. "It was all a misunderstanding, _mesdames et messieurs_ , you can return to your cabins," he said to a few onlookers. Harry heard a few murmured comments as the passengers dispersed, but mostly they were talking about Volkov and whether they could get an autograph from him.

Harry felt sorry for revealing Volkov's presence when he'd gone to some pains to travel incognito, but mostly he felt like an idiot for getting caught like that. The conductor left, but not before giving Harry a look that said, very eloquently, that he hoped there would be no further misunderstandings for the rest of the trip. After he'd gone, Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

Andy leaned against the wall next to Harry and scowled. "Jeez, what a jerk. Does that guy think he's better than everyone just because he can fly a broomstick?"

To be honest, Volkov had been in the right, but Harry felt it wasn't in his best interest to point it out. "Thanks for backing me up in there," he told Andy.

"No problem, I don't like that guy anyway," Andy said breezily. "So, hey, are you really _that_ Harry Potter?"

"Er, yeah," Harry said.

Andy beamed and punched Harry's shoulders. "Wow, you should've told me. I knew I recognized you from somewhere!"

"I'm not that famous," Harry replied. He flattened his hair over his forehead – Andy was staring at it intently, probably looking for the scar.

"Don't be modest," Andy said. "You're a war hero! That's hot," he added, sliding one arm around Harry's shoulders.

Harry suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

"It's not, really," Harry muttered, trying to disentangle himself.

"Why don't we continue this somewhere private?" Andy said. It didn't sound like a question, not really.

"I think you have the wrong idea," Harry tried to say.

"I think you like me," Andy put in. Harry _had_ liked him, before he got all up in Harry's personal space. "C'mon, you owe me for bailing you out back there." He glared at the closed no. 3 door. "How about we head to your cabin?"

"Can't you take a hint?" said Malfoy. "He's telling you to get lost."

Harry turned and saw Malfoy was still around, leaning against a window and looking faintly disgusted by his surroundings as usual. Harry had never been happier to see him.

"You mind?" Andy snapped. "We're kind of in the middle of something."

"No, we're _not_ ," Harry said.

"No," Malfoy agreed. "The only thing you're in the middle of is making a fool of yourself," he told Andy.

"None of your business, blondie," Andy said without a trace of his former friendliness. "Are you his boyfriend or what?"

Malfoy gave him a long look. Then he caught Harry's eye and seemed to make some kind of decision. He took a quick step forward and wrapped one arm around Harry's waist. "Have you got a problem with that?"

Harry just gaped at Malfoy. "Malfoy, wha…?" he managed to say. He thought he'd just hallucinated Malfoy saying that he was Harry's boyfriend, but that couldn't possibly be true.

"Shut up," Malfoy told him in a meaningful tone. "You're already in enough trouble as it is."

Harry shut up. Having Malfoy in his personal space was also awkward, but at least it was a familiar kind of awkward. Also, Harry could feel the tension in Malfoy's arm where it touched Harry, and that was somehow comforting.

Andy gave them both a disgusted look. "Oh come on, Harry could do so much better than you," he spat. "You don't even look like you're dating. You call each other by your surnames, for Merlin's sake!"

"What, you want us to make out to be certain?" Malfoy sneered. "Sorry to disappoint but I'm not into public displays of affection."

"I've known him for more than half my life," Harry put in. "It's my business what I call him."

"Yeah, and he's known you for, what, less than twenty-four hours?" Malfoy added.

Andy muttered something very rude under his breath. Then he shouldered past them and stormed out of the carriage.

Harry closed his eyes and breathed with relief.

"Come on," Malfoy muttered, dragging him towards their cabin. "What's with you? Are you trying to attract trouble on purpose?"

As soon as the door of no. 7 closed behind them, Malfoy removed his arm from around Harry as if the contact was burning him. Harry also stepped aside and, feeling rather embarrassed by the whole situation, looked away.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"Don't mention it," Malfoy replied in much the same tone. He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. "Since I'm such a great person, I won't even try to ask for sexual favours in exchange for my help," he said, sounding more like his usual insufferable self.

"Urgh," Harry said. "I can't believe Andy turned out to be such a creep. Thanks for bailing me out. I would have hexed him, but I don't think the conductor would've been happy if I left him petrified in the middle of the corridor."

"You're welcome," Malfoy replied grandly. He waltzed over to an armchair and sat down, crossing his legs. "I'll have you know, though, that you're a horrible judge of character. I told you to stay away from that man."

"Yeah, well, I thought that was just you being your usual charming self," Harry said, already feeling much less grateful. "Besides, I wouldn't have needed you to drive away Andy if you'd just helped with Volkov earlier."

"Hmm," Malfoy said. He smirked in a way Harry didn't like. "Yes, Potter, about that. How come you were breaking into someone else's cabin?"

"I didn't break in!" Harry exclaimed, fully aware that he was avoiding Malfoy's eyes.

"Not the point, Potter," Malfoy said. "You're an Auror, you know very well the definition of trespassing. So, what were you doing? Were you planning to go through his underwear drawer?"

Harry made a gagging noise. "Please. Even if I was the type to do that, which I'm not, thank you very much, I think we already established that I'm not into Andy." Had he really thought Andy was cute at one point? The bit about war being hot kept replaying in Harry's mind. He tried to turn it off without much success.

There was still some time before dinner but Harry didn't feel like venturing outside in case he ran into Andy. Besides, he'd already done enough to risk getting arrested in one afternoon. He sat down in the armchair in front of Malfoy and alternated between reading his book and going over everything he'd discovered.

Andy was a creep and might have a shopping problem, but he didn't seem to be involved in Harry's case. Both Volkov and the Greek ladies were big names in their field, and they were unlikely to have anything to do with stolen dragon eggs. That left Harry with very few other possibilities.

There was the American woman, Mrs. Simplon, who might have brought her daughters along to fend off suspicion. And there was the Romanian diplomatic couple, the Dobrescus. Harry seemed to recall seeing a ticket for cabin no. 5, Mrs. Simplon's, among the ones he'd taken from Malfoy. However he didn't have any tickets for either no. 1 or no. 2, the suites, so he'd have to think of something else if he wanted to search those.

Another possibility was that Harry had somehow missed something while searching the luggage of the two German salesmen. Perhaps the dragon eggs were hidden in the luggage car, despite the risk that the train staff would find them while moving the luggage around. Or perhaps, Harry thought, sneaking a glance at Malfoy who seemed deeply absorbed in a book, the dragon eggs were right under Harry's nose and he was just too stupid to find them.

The rest of the afternoon was entirely uneventful. Harry convinced a couple of porters to let him into the luggage car, with the excuse that one of his trunks had got mixed up with Malfoy's. There was much more than just trunks and cases inside the luggage car: the inside had been magically expanded, so it resembled a small hangar, and it contained a bit of everything. From life-size marble statues of strange animals, to a gilded cage containing a hundred live birds, to a miniature hedge maze, it looked like the passengers of the European Express were not in the habit of traveling light.

Harry spent almost two hours wandering around the luggage car. His Sneakoscope kept going off and in the end he had to put a Silencing Charm on it because it was completely useless. Harry wasn't interested in people skirting the ban on flying carpets, he had bigger fish to fry. However, despite his careful search, he didn't find any trace of the dragon eggs.

The train made brief stops in Munich and Salzburg, and Harry paused his search to stand on the platform and keep an eye on the passengers coming and going. In Salzburg it started to rain and a cold wind blew on the platform. Nothing happened in either station.

A small consolation was that Harry managed to avoid Andy for the whole afternoon and, when he passed by his table in the restaurant at dinner time, Andy just scowled and looked away. Harry moved on without a backwards glance.

Malfoy was held back by Mrs. Simplon, who seemed exceedingly grateful to him for some reason. "Thanks ever so much, Draco, you're a life saver!" she kept repeating. "I would've never found it on my own. The girls are so happy… What do we say, girls?"

"Thank you, Mr. Draco," the girls chorused.

Blushing, Draco muttered a few polite nothings and hurried to join Harry at their table.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Looks like you've been doing good deeds left and right today," he said as they tucked into their salad.

"It's nothing," Malfoy muttered. "She's making too much of it. I just told her where she could buy orange juice in Munich's central station, that's all."

"I see why you'd want to keep it hidden," Harry grinned. "People might start thinking that you _care_."

Malfoy made a face and stabbed an innocent piece of carrot. "People can think whatever they want, I just wanted to stop having to hear those girls throwing tantrums."

"Of course," Harry said. They ate in silence for a while. "I noticed that you're on first name terms with Mrs. Simplon," Harry said after a while. "You also know the names of both twins."

Draco spluttered. He turned aside and downed his glass of wine. "So?" he said. "She's American, she's way too friendly if you ask me. You bother me if I don't talk to people, you bother me if I do talk to people. Will you give it a rest already?"

Harry would have liked to tease him more, but he did owe Malfoy for earlier, so for once he shut up. Instead he glanced at the other diners, trying to guess which one of them had smuggled dragon eggs on the train and whether they'd try to move them tonight.

Midway through the main course, Malfoy kicked Harry under the table. "Stop staring at him!" he hissed, leaning forward.

Harry scowled. "Ow! Stop that! I'm not staring at _him_ , I thought I made it clear that I'm not interested." So, so very much not interested in Andy, not even as a potential suspect by now.

"It looked like you were staring at him," Malfoy said. "Don't do that or you'll encourage him. Again."

"Hey, it's not _my_ fault he thought… oh, crap, he's looking this way," Harry said, hastily averting his eyes.

Of course, that only made Malfoy turn around to stare at Andy. "He seems still disappointed that you turned him down."

Harry poured himself a glass of excellent Austrian red wine to fortify himself. "Well, you know, I've got this really annoying, clingy boyfriend," he joked. "He gets so jealous if I talk to other men."

"Really?" Malfoy drawled. "I have no idea what he sees in you."

"I'll have you know I'm a great catch," Harry replied.

"Hmm," Malfoy said. Then he smirked and leaned out of his seat. "If we must sleep together again, just don't wake me up early tomorrow morning," he whispered, his breath tickling Harry's ear.

Harry almost choked on a sip of wine but quickly collected himself. If Malfoy thought he was going to fluster him with this extended charade, he was going to be disappointed. "Don't blame me, if you want to get more sleep you should go to bed early."

Malfoy sat back, still smirking. "Will you make me?"

"Maybe," Harry replied, wishing Malfoy would stop with the double entendres already.

"Oh, that worked," Malfoy said. Harry frowned, and Malfoy nodded to Andy's table, which was now empty. "He left. We can drop the boyfriend act," he said.

After that, dinner continued in relative silence. Harry was glad to stop the awkward pretend flirting – of course he was – but he wished he knew why Malfoy was doing it. He had been uncharacteristically helpful with this Andy thing, and Harry had never known Malfoy to be helpful unless there was something in it for him.

Malfoy drank more and more wine as the dinner went on. Harry, who was still working, limited himself to a couple of glasses, but Malfoy finished the bottle and ordered a second. By the time desserts arrived, Malfoy's head was propped up on his hand and he looked very cheerful.

"I can't believe this!" he exclaimed when the waitress placed a tiny plate of chocolate bonbons in front of him. "Wonders never cease."

"No Sachertorte?" Harry asked, remembering their conversation from lunch.

Malfoy nodded and took a tiny bite from one of the bonbons. "This is the weirdest journey I've ever had on the Express. Oh, delicious…"

The bonbons looked like miniature sculptures of swirling chocolate with a gooey inside. Harry would have said they were too pretty to eat – except he had no intention of passing on them. He took one of them and tossed it in his mouth. Immediately, his eyes bulged and he patted his chest.

Malfoy laughed. "Easy there, Potter, or they'll have to levitate you back to your bed," he said, brushing a drop of chocolate from the corner of his own mouth.

Harry's eyes were watering. The chocolates were filled with some kind of fruit liqueur and he'd just accidentally done the equivalent of drinking a shot. "Why didn't you warn me?" he coughed.

At that, Malfoy laughed even louder. "You mean you didn't know…? Merlin, sometimes I forget you've spent most of your life in Boringham, Muggleshire."

With some regret, Harry pushed away the plate with the two remaining bonbons. They were delicious, after the initial shock and the burn in his throat had subsided, but he'd better avoid the rest if he wanted to stay awake for the rest of the evening.

"You can ask for the kiddie version with no liqueur," Malfoy suggested.

"It's fine," Harry said. "I'm full anyway."

"In that case, it'd be a pity to waste them," Malfoy said, sweeping the plate from in front of Harry. He finished the bonbons with great gusto, though by the end he was almost slumped on the table.

Harry checked his watch and noticed that the train was about to reach Vienna. By now he knew the train's schedule like the back of his hand: they would stop in Vienna for half an hour and then travel non-stop for the next few hours. Harry planned to use those few hours to get some much-needed sleep, as he knew that the next day would be a critical one for the case.

First, though, he needed to make sure that the smugglers wouldn't try to give him the slip in Austria. "Come on, Malfoy, let's go," Harry said, pushing back his chair and standing up. He felt slightly tipsy, but not much, and the fresh air would clear his head.

Malfoy just slumped more comfortably against the tabletop. "No, I'd rather stay here," he said. "I'm comfy."

"Come on," Harry repeated. "Or they're going to levitate _you_ back to your bed." He grabbed Malfoy's elbow and hauled him bodily up to his feet. Malfoy staggered a little but allowed himself to be led along.

As usual, most of the tables had already emptied by the time Harry and Malfoy left the restaurant. The waiting staff didn't pay any attention to them, but then again Malfoy wasn't the only diner who looked unsteady on his feet after desserts.

Their cabin was almost at the other end of the train, and they were already passing through the outskirts of the city. Change of plans, Harry thought. Instead of dropping Malfoy off first, he could get down on the platform with Malfoy and keep an eye on the luggage car while Malfoy cleared his head.

Malfoy stumbled against Harry as they walked down the corridor, and Harry had to grab him to stop him from falling on his face when the train pulled into a stop.

"I thought we were going back to our cabin," Malfoy mumbled as Harry helped him down the steps of the train. It wasn't raining any more but the weather had turned even colder. Malfoy, who was only wearing a lightweight dinner jacket, shivered. "Brrr! Are you going to try and make me freeze to death?!"

Harry shook his head. Even wearing his warmest sweater, a classic Weasley piece in burgundy, Harry was feeling the bite of the wind. "I just thought we could clear our heads first before going to bed," he said.

Malfoy grumbled but didn't argue against this. The cold air was quickly sobering up both of them. Already Malfoy wasn't swaying quite so much on his feet, so Harry judged it was fine to let go of his arm, though he regretted the loss of body warmth.

They froze together for a while. The platform was empty, save from the conductor who was supervising the removal of the Paris-Vienna carriage. On another platform a dozen Muggles were waiting for their train, oblivious to the large green train car currently levitating in front of them.

"I know we've never been on good terms," Harry said suddenly. "No, let's be honest, I know we've hated each other for a very long time."

Startled, Malfoy opened his mouth, but Harry stopped him before he could say anything.

"I just wanted to tell you this," Harry said. "I didn't think we could ever be civil to each other, but, well, I'm glad we're trying."

Malfoy lowered his gaze and contemplated his loafers for a moment. "Yeah," he replied. "I mean, don't get me wrong, today has been very strange. I didn't think you'd ever want to talk to me of your own free will, or even breathe the same air as me…"

"Likewise, but, you know… Kind of forced to, on a train…" Harry said, giving him a sideways smile.

They both trailed off, Harry feeling awkward, Malfoy still looking away.

"Let's go back inside," Malfoy said. The tips of his nose and ears were turning red. "I seem to recall you wanting to get me into bed early."

For the sake of Harry's sanity, these kinds of remarks had to stop. "You keep making it sound like I want to sleep with you," Harry said, trying to turn it into a joke.

Malfoy looked up. "Don't you?" he asked quietly. Harry's mouth went dry. "I mean," Malfoy added with a small laugh, "with the way you've been staring at me, it's either that or you suspect me of hatching a criminal plot."

It was Harry's turn to look away. Most passengers had already boarded and the train was just waiting for the last few pieces of luggage to be loaded.

Harry didn't know what to reply. Both, he wanted to say. It's both, and it's been driving me mad. He could say it and let Malfoy take the next step. Malfoy, pasty pale under the station's neon lights, looked almost shocked at what he himself had just said but was staring at Harry with something almost like hope in his eyes. Malfoy, Harry had to remind himself, was still a suspect in his case.

No matter that the evidence suggested that Malfoy had nothing to do with the smuggling – no matter how much Harry might want Malfoy – he couldn't.

When had Malfoy turned from a pointy, lanky, bratty kid into this handsome man? Probably at the same time he'd turned into someone with actual feelings, who was capable of – Merlin help him – being nice to Harry. And Harry had chosen the worst possible time to notice all of that.

"We should go back inside," Harry said, quietly, still not looking at Malfoy. If he did he was afraid his resolve might crumble. "Train's about to leave."

It wouldn't leave for another couple of minutes yet, actually, but Malfoy didn't object. Harry was glad of it; there were only so many times he could hear Malfoy talking about the two of them sleeping together before he went out of his mind. They slowly got back on the train, and Harry hovered near the door, keeping an eye on the empty platform until the doors finally closed and the train slowly made its way out of the station.

Harry leaned his forehead against the cold windowpane and watched the night city zoom by. He wished Malfoy would leave him alone and return to their cabin, so when Harry got back they could both pretend that their last conversation had never happened. At the same time, a contrary part of his brain very much wished Malfoy _wouldn't_ leave him alone.

With all those conflicting emotions, Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when Malfoy wrapped his arms around Harry's chest.

"You never answered my question," Malfoy said, his words muffled as his face was pressed against the side of Harry's neck.

"Your nose feels like an icicle," Harry said.

Malfoy snorted. "You dragged me outside in the cold. And you're deflecting."

Damn right he was, Harry thought, looking at Malfoy's reflection in the window. He turned around, meaning to detach himself from the other man, and instead somehow found himself pinned to the window by Malfoy's body.

"Malfoy," Harry said, cupping the back of Malfoy's head. He'd meant to push him aside, but at some point between his brain and his hand, the gesture became more like a caress. "Are you still drunk?"

Malfoy looked up. "I'm not," he said. His pale grey eyes were wide and looked almost feverish. "And neither are you, Potter. So the fact that you still haven't hexed me into next Tuesday means that, as always, I was right." He smirked, and Harry was suddenly very aware of all the points where Malfoy's impossibly long body touched him. "You want me," Malfoy said. The words were almost drowned by Harry's heartbeat, thumping madly in his chest.

He opened his mouth to deny it and instead found himself crushing his lips against Malfoy's. What was about him that made Harry incapable of acting in a rational way? Rational decisions were overrated, Harry decided, especially after Malfoy got over the initial shock and started kissing him back.

Harry tilted back Malfoy's head and slid his tongue between Malfoy's parted lips. He tasted like chocolate and coffee and spices. Malfoy made a soft, hungry noise in the back of his throat, and Harry vaguely remembered that they were still standing in the middle of a corridor and that at any moment a stranger might pass and see them snogging. It was difficult to bring himself to care, not when Malfoy's tongue was sliding along his own and Malfoy's fists were tangled in the front of his sweater.

When they finally broke apart, they were both gasping for air. Malfoy's lips were red, almost obscenely so if compared with his pale skin.

"Come on," Harry mumbled, dragging Malfoy forward.

They stumbled along the corridor towards their cabin, stopping every few steps to trade hungry, messy kisses. It was as if neither of them were willing to physically part from the other, not even for a moment, for fear that if they did they'd both regain their senses and stop this madness.

Harry could barely wrap his head around the fact that Malfoy was kissing him. That _he_ was kissing _Malfoy_. That at some point in the past, while he'd been looking at Malfoy and cursing himself for a fool, thinking it'd never happen, Malfoy had been looking right back.

They finally reached the door of no. 7 and the sleepy owl blinked at them.

"Ticket's in one of my pockets," Malfoy murmured against Harry's lips. He slid one hand below the waistband of Harry's jeans and Harry bit off a curse.

The owl blinked again, but Harry was in no mood to be reprimanded by a piece of wood. He quickly found the ticket in Malfoy's jacket and managed to open the door despite Malfoy's best attempts to distract him.

As soon as the door was closed behind them, Harry started tugging at Malfoy's jacket. He had a long list of grievances against Malfoy's clothes, like that they were too posh and that they showed his arse in a distracting way, but right now his chief concern was that Malfoy was wearing too many of them.

For once Malfoy seemed to agree with Harry because he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it aside. His tie quickly followed. They stumbled across the room and onto Malfoy's bed. In the privacy of their own cabin, with Muffling Charms all around them, Malfoy had become surprisingly vocal, giving out little pleased mewls as Harry pushed him down on the mattress and pressed open mouthed kisses along his collarbone.

"Ah, Merlin," Malfoy moaned. His hands found the front of Harry's jeans and Harry hissed as Malfoy pulled the zipper down. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this, Potter."

It had been ages since the last time Harry had been laid, too. Harry blamed that for the fact that he was already hard, painfully so, and rutting against Malfoy's hand.

Something unpleasant shifted in Harry's stomach when he thought about the reason why he was on the train, about going through Malfoy's things and writing his name in his suspects list. _Either you want to sleep with me, or you suspect me of hatching a criminal plot._ But Malfoy never needed to know about the reason why Harry was on the train. And nobody else ever needed to know about Malfoy.

Harry had no illusions that this would be more than a one-night stand – a very pleasurable one-night stand from the way Malfoy was writhing against him – and then Malfoy's hand slid down the front of Harry's jeans and Harry's capacity for coherent thought deserted him.

Somehow he managed to remove his sweater, though it got tangled in his glasses because he'd forgotten to remove them. He tossed everything aside and leaned in to kiss Malfoy again. "I never thought you'd be interested," he managed to say.

"In what?" Malfoy asked. "Men? You?" He raised an eyebrow. "Snogging?"

"Yes," Harry replied, somewhat randomly. His fingers skimmed down the front of Malfoy's shirt. Why did Malfoy's clothes have so many _buttons_? "Either of those. All of them."

Malfoy laughed, though it sounded more like a wheeze because he was so out of breath. "Your problem, Potter… or rather one of your many problems… is that you have such a narrow view of everything."

Harry growled and tugged at Malfoy's shirt. "Shut up and help me get you naked," he said, and Malfoy complied.

When Malfoy's shirt joined the rest of his clothes on the floor, though, and Harry started peeling off his thin undershirt, Malfoy squirmed under his hands.

"C'mon," Harry muttered, pressing a bruising kiss to Malfoy's collarbone. "I want to touch you." Wanted to feel Malfoy's skin under his fingers and his mouth, to learn if Malfoy was a cold marble statue as he seemed. Somehow, Harry felt that this wasn't the case; right now Malfoy was burning up with as much need as him.

Suddenly Malfoy pushed him away. Harry fell back and Malfoy pounced on him, and then their positions were reversed, with Malfoy on top and straddling Harry.

Harry started to say something but Malfoy leaned down to shut him up with a kiss. He shifted over Harry and their hips pressed together, making Harry arch under him. Harry swore and Malfoy captured the noises with his mouth.

Malfoy's usually perfect hair was a mess from where Harry had run his fingers through it. It fell in front of Malfoy's face, keeping his eyes in shadow. Harry pushed back Malfoy's hair, took Malfoy's face in his hands to still him.

"Wait, wait," he managed to say. His throat was dry. "Are you absolutely sure about this?"

Malfoy made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. "For the last time," he said, almost in a whine. "I'm not drunk if that's what you mean."

"I know, it's just…" Harry trailed off, distracted by the way Malfoy was licking his lips. "I just don't want to do anything you'd regret next morning."

"Aw, Potter, I didn't know you cared," Malfoy said.

"No, I'm serious," Harry said, though his whole argument was somehow weakened by the fact that he was doing nothing to stop Malfoy from pushing Harry's jeans down his hips.

Malfoy sat back and looked at him. "I won't regret it if you don't," he said quietly. "Do you _want_ to stop?"

Harry shook his head emphatically.

"Then, for once in your maddening, frustrating existence," Malfoy said, giving him a wicked grin, "will you just shut up and let me do as I want?"

He leaned down and, before Harry could say anything, he took Harry's cock in his mouth. At that, Harry felt he didn't have any more objections.

Harry fisted one hand in the bedsheets and the other in Malfoy's hair, tugging slightly, resisting the impulse to pull. Malfoy's head bobbed enthusiastically up and down Harry's length. Merlin, but he was _good_. Harry's back arched off the mattress as Malfoy's tongue flicked along the vein on the underside.

Too good, almost, and Harry knew he wouldn't last much longer. It had been too long since the last time, and Malfoy was making the most amazing wet sucking noises as he swallowed Harry down to the root. Harry had never been with anyone who was quite so enthusiastic about giving head and it took all of his restraint not to come down Malfoy's throat without any warning.

Malfoy glanced up and met Harry's eyes. Harry had a quick vision of what Malfoy would look like with come dripping all down his face and almost lost it then. He wanted to see Malfoy completely undone, though, to learn what he looked like when his defences were down.

Harry squeezed Malfoy's shoulder, pulling him back until Malfoy stopped his ministrations. He pushed himself into a sitting position and kissed the beginning of a scowl away from Malfoy's face.

"Let me," Harry murmured. He could taste himself in Malfoy's mouth. Blindly, without breaking the kiss, he started fumbling with the button of Malfoy's pants. Malfoy got the idea and raised his hips off the bed, letting Harry shove the pants and boxer shorts down and wriggling out of them until they tangled around one of his ankles.

Malfoy hadn't been touching himself but he was half hard already and he moaned into Harry's mouth when Harry stroked him experimentally. Harry wrapped his other arm around Malfoy's waist, pulling them together so that Malfoy was sitting in his lap.

Malfoy's hips shifted as if he was trying to restrain himself from thrusting against Harry. His pupils were blown wide, the irises just slivers of grey. Then he moved and swatted Harry's hand away, replacing it with his own. Bossy, Harry thought distantly, even in bed, but he couldn't really complain, not when Malfoy was wrapping his fingers around both of their erections.

It was rough, with only their precome to slick Malfoy's palm, the friction just this side of painful, but Harry wouldn't have stopped for anything in the world. He let Malfoy set the pace and lost himself in the sensation. Malfoy's undershirt had ridden up, and Harry could see that even his chest was flushed a deep crimson. He couldn't help pushing the shirt up further so as to duck down and press a kiss to Malfoy's chest, which was almost feverishly hot. He smelled like sweat and lemongrass under Harry's tongue.

On impulse, Harry sucked at Malfoy's nipple and teased it with his teeth, and he was rewarded with a low moan. He was very glad for the Muffling Charms enclosing the cabin, because Malfoy sounded wrecked and completely amazing.

Harry's hands went to Malfoy's hips and gripped him so tightly he'd have bruises the next day. Malfoy didn't seem to mind it. His movements sped up a little and he threw back his head, exposing the pale line of his throat. Harry closed his eyes and scraped his teeth along Malfoy's throat, feeling Malfoy's frantic pulse point under his lips.

"Look at me," Malfoy said in a hoarse voice. "Let me see your face… I want to…"

Harry did, and it was almost too much to see how intensely Malfoy was looking at him. Harry bucked into his touch and pressed their mouths together, too far gone for anything more complicated than swapping saliva and letting their breath mingle. He gave a soft choked sound, almost like a sob, and then he was coming.

Malfoy wasn't far behind. He was increasingly vocal as his movements became jerky, until he cried out loud and he came all over their joined hands. He closed his eyes and stayed very still for several moments, breathing hard.

They slumped back, Malfoy against Harry and Harry against the pillows, and remained like that for a long time. Harry stared at the bunk bed above their heads without really seeing it. One hand was still absently stroking Malfoy's back and counting the ridges of his spine. Amazing that someone could be so thin and pointy and yet feel so soft next to him.

Malfoy was making some half-hearted attempts to get up, but he didn't seem to be trying very hard to get out of Harry's arms. Harry himself felt like he could barely move; all his limbs seemed to have been turned to jelly and he felt pleasantly drowsy.

"We should clean up," Malfoy mumbled, nuzzling against Harry's shoulder. "It's nasty."

Harry murmured acknowledgement but made no attempt to move. It was true that the sticky puddle between them was starting to become uncomfortable, though. "Hold on, I'll take care of it," he murmured eventually, when Malfoy seemed to want to get up.

He sighed and concentrated as much as he could, considering that he'd just had his brain turned to porridge by the orgasm. "Evanesco," he muttered, and the mess vanished nearly without a trace.

Malfoy gave him a lazy grin. "Wandless magic," he said. "Potter, I'm impressed."

"It has its uses," Harry replied, suppressing a yawn.

Harry realized he was still wearing his t-shirt. He took it off and used it to clean off the last bits of come from him and Malfoy, then threw it aside.

He ought to go back to his own bed, but it was warm next to Malfoy and he didn't really want to. Especially not when Malfoy pulled the covers over both of them and settled down next to him, throwing one arm over Harry's chest like it was a natural thing to do.

It was strange to be in bed together like that, almost cuddling. Even after the sex, Harry was half-expecting Malfoy to kick him out of bed as soon as they were done. It was not unpleasant, though, and Harry felt too sated and sleepy to engage Malfoy in what was sure to devolve into an argument. He threw one leg over Malfoy's, closed his eyes, and was asleep within seconds.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry woke with a start in the middle of the night. The train was slowing down and the most alert part of Harry's brain reminded him that they'd be stopping in Budapest soon. In five minutes to be exact, he realized when he checked his watch which he'd forgotten to take off.

Malfoy shifted next to him but didn't wake up. It was strange to see him so open and unguarded, completely peaceful. His cheek was pressed against Harry's shoulder and he was snoring softly.

Harry was tempted to close his eyes and go back to sleep, or even better, to wake Malfoy up and see if he was up for round two. The smugglers had been lying low so far, what were the odds that they'd move the dragon eggs now instead of waiting a few more hours until the train reached Bulgaria?

Even as he thought that, however, Harry was already pushing the covers back and getting up, padding across the room in bare feet to retrieve his clothes. His sweater and jeans were on the floor, one of his socks had ended up over the lamp, and he couldn't find the second one. His wand, thankfully, was still on the bedside table where he'd chucked it.

Harry retrieved his glasses from under the wardrobe and put on his sneakers. When he glanced up, Malfoy was propped on one elbow, staring at him.

"Hey," Harry managed to say.

Malfoy didn't reply, so Harry finished tying his shoelaces and stood up.

He wanted to say something, anything to defuse the awkward situation, but he couldn't explain where he was going without giving away his mission. The silence seemed to stretch for an eternity. Outside the window, a sign for Budapest flashed by. They were almost there and Harry needed to hurry.

Harry turned towards the door.

"If you are going to sneak off like that, you could have done so right away instead of waiting until I was asleep," Malfoy said in a flat tone.

"I'm not sneaking off," Harry protested. Not very convincing, he had to admit, given that his hand was on the door handle.

"Really? Don't tell me you're going to get some fresh air, or to stretch your legs, at three in the bloody morning."

Harry turned around and stared at Malfoy. Malfoy, who was sporting a rather impressive collection of love bites on his naked chest, a traitorous part of Harry's brain pointed out. Malfoy looked… Disappointed? Angry? Sad?

"Malfoy, I'm not…" Harry tried to say. "I don't want to…"

Before Harry could figure out what to say, Malfoy turned towards the wall and threw the covers over himself. "Please, spare me your lies. If you want to go then just fucking go."

Harry left the cabin without looking back.

The train had already stopped but the door was only just opening when Harry reached it. He hurried down onto the platform and earned a puzzled smile from the conductor.

"Couldn't sleep, _monsieur_?" he said, and Harry managed a shaky smile and some kind of answer.

The only passengers getting on the train were an elderly couple who carried only a single carpet bag. Nobody was getting down. Nobody else was around. Harry stood on the platform, under the flickering light of a lamp post and stared at the train for a good twenty minutes while the sinking feeling in his stomach intensified.

Eventually though, when the conductor blew his whistle, Harry had to resign himself to the fact that nothing at all had happened: the smugglers were all sleeping soundly, whoever they were, and no contraband would be moved tonight.

He couldn't have known, he told himself as he walked back to his cabin. He couldn't have been sure; the Minister would never have forgiven him if the dragon eggs were taken away while Harry was somewhere else. Harry would have never forgiven himself… All the same, he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd fucked things up with Malfoy for no reason at all.

When Harry opened the door, all the lights had been turned off. Harry was very still for a moment and listened. From the sound of Malfoy's breathing he guessed that he was still awake.

Harry suppressed a sigh. Malfoy kind of had a point. But it wasn't as if Harry could have stayed in bed with Malfoy, and he couldn't give a reason for leaving, so that was that. He kicked off his shoes and they landed with two loud thuds, but Malfoy went on pretending to be asleep.

Without turning on the lights, Harry stumbled across the room and climbed into the upper bunk. He threw himself down on the pillows without even taking off his clothes. He felt tired to the bone, and he'd have to be up in less than five hours when the train would reach Belgrade, yet somehow Harry couldn't fall asleep.

When the alarm rang next morning at a quarter to eight, Harry had just fallen into a fitful sleep. He climbed down from his bed feeling groggy and out of sorts. In the dim morning light he could see that the curtains around Malfoy's bed were still tightly shut.

Harry had the sudden uncharitable impulse to yank back the curtains and yell at Malfoy a bit, but he knew that would accomplish nothing. It wouldn't even make him feel better, really. He'd known all along that last night was just a one-night stand, so it was pointless to wish that he and Malfoy could somehow mend their fences and have something more. They had been approaching something that resembled friendship in the past two days, but now he was sure that they'd go back to the start.

Or worse, Harry thought, since Malfoy was now avoiding him.

Belgrade Railway Station was much like the other Muggle stations Harry had seen during the journey. Usually he'd try to listen to people conversing in the local tongue as he kept an eye on the luggage car, or he'd sneak amused looks at the Muggles who went about their business unaware of the extra platform standing only a few feet from them, but this morning Harry didn't feel like it. He sat down on a stone bench and thought morosely about his plans for the day.

Time was, unfortunately, running very low. They'd cross the border into Bulgaria in the early afternoon, and when that happened the smugglers could try to make their move at any minute. By now Harry had learned his case notes about the passengers by heart. The Dobrescus were getting down in Sofia, he recalled, and they were the only ones from the London-Istanbul carriage who planned to stop in Bulgaria.

Harry was starting to think he'd been too hasty in dismissing them out of hand from his list of suspects. If he wanted to search their cabins, however, he'd have to make up his mind about it and deal with it as soon as possible. In the end Harry resolved to try and get inside no. 1 and no. 2 while everyone else was at lunch. He didn't know how he'd manage that, as he didn't have any tickets for either of the suites, but he had to at least make an attempt.

The train stopped in Belgrade for almost half an hour. Many passengers got on and off and the porters stayed busy hauling trunks around. Other passengers were also starting to wake up: Harry could see them through the windows, walking along the corridor towards the restaurant. A strong smell of coffee and toast wafted through the open windows. Harry's stomach grumbled, but then he recalled the previous day's breakfast with French croissants. Suddenly he didn't feel hungry any more.

After they left the station, Harry walked up and down the length of the train a couple of times, on the off-chance that he'd meet Mr. and Mrs. Dobrescu. They weren't in the conservatory, nor in the café, nor in the billiard room that Harry hadn't even known about. He hadn't seen the Dobrescus anywhere aboard, now that he thought about it, aside from the restaurant carriage at meal times, and he was starting to wonder what they did in their cabin all the time.

The conservatory was completely empty today, possibly because it had started to rain and the room looked rather gloomy, surrounded as it was by grey sky and bleak fields. Harry made a detour back to his cabin and tried not to feel too dismayed when he saw Malfoy was still hiding in bed with the curtains drawn. Then, armed with his detective novel to hide behind, he headed to the café where most of the passengers seemed to have gathered this morning.

Although the rain was still washing down the windows in sheets, several bright lamps set in sconces along the walls gave the café a rather cheerful appearance. A few of the low wooden tables were empty, but Harry spotted the elderly Miss Costas and Miss Artax; he made a beeline for their table and asked if he could join them.

It wasn't that he was afraid Andy would try to corner him if he sat by himself – now that he knew what the guy was like, he was perfectly able to deal with him without the help of his "boyfriend", thank you very much – but the two women looked like gossips and they might know something useful about the other passengers.

Unfortunately, he didn't get the chance to ask questions. As soon as Miss Artax saw the book Harry was carrying, she started huffing about implausible plots and poor characterization. Miss Costas retorted that Miss Artax disliked the author only because she could never guess the solution of the mysteries, and soon they were locked in what sounded like a very familiar argument, easily switching between English and Greek and other languages Harry didn't recognize.

Mrs. Simplon and her twins were sitting at a corner table. The twins were drinking orange juice from matching sippy cups and were engaged in an enthusiastic game of Exploding Snap. After a while, Mrs. Simplon came to Harry's table to ask him if Draco was around.

"He wasn't at breakfast, either," she said.

"I haven't seen him today," Harry said. "I don't think he's up yet."

"Oh, too bad," Mrs. Simplon said. "He'd promised to teach the girls how to play chess, they were so looking forward to it…"

Harry had a vision of Malfoy playing chess with the twins on a little pink chessboard. It would have been funny, if not for the reminder that Malfoy was actively avoiding him.

In the end, Harry volunteered to teach the game to the Simplon twins, partly because of Mrs. Simplon's not-so-subtle suggestions and partly for a chance of getting a look inside their cabins.

The family occupied no. 5 and no. 6, two adjacent cabins. One of the twins (Marigold, Harry presumed) stood on tiptoes to pat the muzzle of the horse on no. 6 door, while the other twin (Violet, probably) told Harry that his name was Thunder and he was the best horse ever.

Fortunately, Harry was used to being around children, what with Teddy and Victoire and little Rose, so he wasn't too baffled by their random conversation. In no time at all they had pulled out a chessboard (which wasn't pink at all luckily) and Harry was teaching the kids which piece went on which square of the board.

Mrs. Simplon, commenting that all the different pieces gave her a headache and she much preferred card games, retreated to a corner of the room to read her copy of Witch Weekly. No doubt she was glad to have found someone else who would keep her daughters occupied for a couple of hours.

After some twenty minutes, Harry himself would have happily handed the twins over to someone else, since all they seemed capable of doing was upending the board whenever one of their pieces was taken. Somehow Harry had the feeling that Malfoy would have been able to handle them much better. Certainly he wouldn't just sit and stare as Marigold (or was it Violet?) grabbed a knight in each pudgy hand and started knocking all the other pieces over, making high-pitched whinnying sounds.

The silver lining was that Harry could tick off those two cabins as possible hiding places for the eggs. He'd had a good look inside Mrs. Simplon's trunk while they were fetching the chessboard, and the most suspicious thing he'd seen was a larger-than-normal amount of bottled orange juice. As for the girls' room, he couldn't really go through their things while their mother was watching, but the Sneakoscope in his pocket had been completely silent. And besides, nobody right in their mind would keep dragon eggs in any place that those two hellions could reach, given their penchant for throwing things around.

They played three matches, all three of which Harry lost spectacularly, as to prevent any tantrums. The twins were very gracious about their wins, thanking 'Mr. Harry' for teaching them the game and asking him to play again soon. Harry accepted readily, with the certainty that they'd be in Istanbul tomorrow morning and he'd never see the Simplons again afterwards.

It was almost midday when he finally left their cabin. He didn't have long until the Dobrescus left their cabin for lunch, and he still hadn't thought of a way to get inside. Harry thought he'd try to transfigure one of the tickets so the cabin number was changed, but he doubted that kind of cheap trick would fool the door lock. Alternatively, he had a set of lockpicks hidden in a secret pocket of his cloak, though he didn't relish the prospect of picking a lock in broad daylight in a busy corridor.

"Ah, _monsieur_!" the conductor exclaimed, waving to Harry. "A moment, _s'il vous plaît_?"

Harry nodded, already resigning himself to the worst. What could have happened? Did Volkov complain some more about Harry breaking into his cabin? Did someone see Harry poking around the luggage car?

He steadied himself for the possible accusations, ready to whip out his Auror papers if need be. If it came to it, he'd have to talk to the conductor in private and explain the situation. He'd ask for his cooperation, but as Harry's investigation was strictly unofficial the man was not required to…

"I'm sorry to bother you but Monsieur Malfoy seems to be unwell," the conductor said, and Harry tried not to sag with relief. "He has asked for lunch to be brought to him on a tray."

"Oh," Harry said. "Er, yes. I don't think it's anything serious, I wouldn't worry. He'll be well enough by the time we reach Istanbul." Because then he would no longer have to pretend to be sick in order to hide from Harry.

"Of course, _monsieur_ ," the conductor said. "It occurs to me that a Fortifying Decoction or a Pepperup Potion might help? We have quite a well-stocked apothecary on board. I was going back to ask Monsieur Malfoy, but perhaps you could tell me so I don't bother him while he's unwell?"

He looked hopefully at Harry, and Harry sighed. "I don't think it's something that needs to be fixed with a potion," he said. "But I'll go talk to him. Thank you for your concern," he added, because it wasn't the poor man's fault that Malfoy was a git.

Harry marched back to no. 7 and composed a neat little speech in his head. He'd tell Malfoy to stop acting like a truant schoolchild and get out of bed. He'd tell Malfoy to go and have lunch, that he (Harry) would eat later, so they wouldn't have to sit at the same table or even interact for the rest of the journey if Malfoy didn't want to. Malfoy would yell and rant at him, but eventually he'd leave the cabin, if only to get away from Harry. Then Harry would wait until the corridor was empty and sneak into the suites, and hopefully he'd find the dragon eggs in there and the case would be solved.

None of this happened. When Harry opened the door to no. 7, the first thing he saw was that Malfoy was up. He was wrapped in a fluffy white bathrobe and was standing in front of the wardrobe staring at something. When Malfoy turned around, Harry noticed he was holding the folders with the case notes.

Harry's hand flew to his wand pocket. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"That's what I should be asking," Malfoy shot back. He held out the folders with shaky hands. "What the fuck are these?"

"Why have you got them?" Harry replied. "Have you been going through my stuff?" Even as he asked the question, Harry realized the awful truth: that this morning he'd been in such a hurry to get out of the cabin, he hadn't bothered to transfigure the folders to disguise them. He'd simply tossed them over a pile of t-shirts after checking his suspect list one last time.

Malfoy was livid. "Listen to the pot calling the cauldron black! You have some nerve, Potter, lecturing me after searching my trunks! Or are you going to deny it? It's all here," he spat, throwing the folders at Harry.

Harry ducked and sheets of parchment flew all around the room. "I had my reasons," he said, wishing the ground would open and swallow him.

"Oh, sure," Malfoy replied. "You mean your investigation, in which I'm somehow the number one suspect despite the fact that there's _nothing against me_?" The last few words were almost shouted. Thank goodness for closed doors and Muffling Charms. "You. Have. Nothing!"

"You're not the number one suspect," Harry said through gritted teeth. "I had to search your cabin to clear you from the list – I had to search everyone's – but…"

"Last night," Malfoy interrupted him. He gulped, hesitated for a moment, but eventually managed to spit it out. "Was that part of your investigation too? Did you think you'd get information out of me if… if you…"

Malfoy stopped, almost choking on the words. Harry couldn't listen to any more of this, especially not with Malfoy half-undressed in that bathrobe that showed off the red marks Harry had left on his collarbone. "That had nothing to do with it! Last night was… I wouldn't have slept with you if I thought…"

"Enough with your lies!" Malfoy yelled. Then, in a smaller voice, "Merlin's pants, I can't believe I actually thought you wanted me, and all the time you were seeing me as just another suspect."

"It's not like that," Harry snapped, but Malfoy wasn't listening.

"Was it fun, at least, to play me for a fool? No, I forgot, you were so disgusted you snuck away first chance you got."

"You're wrong!" Harry exclaimed. "It's more complicated than that…"

Malfoy let out a bitter laugh. "Of course. It was simpler when you insulted me to my face instead of pretending to like me."

"Will you let me explain?" Harry yelled, taking a step forward.

"I won't listen to any more lies!" Malfoy yelled back, clenching his fists.

Harry saw Malfoy raise one arm. He could have stopped him then, he'd always had good reflexes and he had his hand on his wand already. But it seemed wrong to hex someone who didn't have a wand. Harry didn't really think Malfoy was going to punch him.

Malfoy's right fist shot out catching Harry just under his jaw, and Harry reeled back more from the shock of it than the force of the blow. His wand fell from his limp fingers. Malfoy, his face contorted with rage, rushed forward and tried to punch Harry again.

Harry was expecting it this time. He deflected Malfoy's fist, receiving only a glancing blow. With a quick move he swiped Malfoy's legs from under him and Malfoy fell down, taking Harry with him.

Then they were rolling on the carpet, exchanging punches and yelling incoherent insults. Harry didn't know where his wand was, and he'd lost his glasses at some point, but he didn't care about that. He was quite happy to forget about his surroundings and wrestle with Malfoy until he punched some sense into him or, more likely, until they got so tired that they passed out.

It took quite a while for either of them to notice the insistent knocking at the door. Harry paused halfway through an attempt to knee Malfoy in the stomach, and Malfoy kept his grip on the front of Harry's shirt but turned his head.

Another knock. "Monsieur Malfoy?" the conductor's voice called. "I have your lunch. Are you in here? Are you well?"

Harry hesitated.

"Best open the door before he kicks it open," Malfoy muttered without meeting Harry's eyes.

"I'll get it," Harry said quickly. Malfoy had a split lip and the blood had spilled over the front of his robe, which had been torn in the struggle. Harry didn't think he'd be much more presentable himself, but at least he was fully dressed.

He got to his feet, wincing at the pain in his knee from when Malfoy had kicked him, and crossed the cabin to open the door. Malfoy also got up and sat in an armchair that hid him from view.

"Sorry, didn't hear you knock the first time," Harry said, opening the door. "Oh, you brought lunch," he added, noticing the tray the conductor was carrying, covered by a large silver dome to keep the dishes warm. "Thank you."

The conductor handed over the tray with a small bow. "Please tell Monsieur Malfoy to enjoy, and I hope he will feel better soon."

"I'm sure he's much better already," Harry said, glaring at the back of Malfoy's head.

"Of course," the conductor said. He hesitated. " _Monsieur_ , at the risk of sounding impertinent… I do not pretend to tell people how to behave, but…"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Er, what are you getting at?"

"Please make sure you're properly dressed before you leave your cabin," the conductor said, and he marched off quickly before Harry had a chance to reply.

Puzzled, Harry went back inside. There was a large mirror next to the wardrobe, and when he looked at himself he realized what the conductor had meant. His shirt had somehow been pulled up while he fought with Malfoy, his hair stuck out in every direction and his face was flushed. The conductor had probably thought he'd interrupted them during sex, or something like that.

If only. Harry put down the lunch tray on the table and turned to Malfoy. He could share that thought with Malfoy and get a laugh out of him at least, before they resumed their fighting.

Harry's words died in his throat. Malfoy was hunched over in his armchair, his shoulders shaking, palms pressed to his eyes. Harry didn't know what to say. He just sank in the armchair opposite and gaped.

"Malfoy…"

"Can't you just leave me alone?" Malfoy managed between gasps. "Haven't you humiliated me enough?"

"I don't… I _didn't_ want to leave." The words were out of Harry's mouth before he could stop himself. "Last night, I had to go and check the platform. I'm… If you read my files you'll have figured out that I'm here working the HBE case." He had already said too much: he wasn't supposed to say anything to civilians, least of all to Malfoy, but he'd already messed up when he left the files around for Malfoy to read.

Malfoy didn't say anything, but at least the sobs had stopped and his shoulders weren't quite so tense any more.

"Every time the train stops anywhere, I have to keep an eye on it, make sure that the dragon eggs don't get moved while we're in a station." It felt surreal to tell Malfoy. The Ministry would have Harry's head if they knew. Harry was handing Malfoy the key to destroying his career, but somehow his worst fear was that Malfoy wouldn't believe him. "Think about it. You've seen me, I've done it every time we stop anywhere…"

Malfoy slowly looked up, peering at Harry from between his fingers. He swallowed. "Even so," he croaked. "I'm still on top of your fucking suspect list."

"That list isn't up to date," Harry replied.

"Must've been disappointing when I didn't confess during pillow talk," Malfoy said, looking away. "Did you try this interrogation technique on Andy, too?"

Harry sank even lower in his armchair, wrestling with his conscience. In the end, though, if Malfoy was going to hate him, then better to be hated for what he did than for an imagined slight. Harry dug around in his pocket for the tickets he'd stolen from Malfoy, then tossed them on the table. He watched Malfoy stare as they fluttered around the tray, feeling numb.

"I wasn't expecting a confession," he said flatly, "because I know it's not you."

Malfoy picked up a ticket. "This one's mine," he murmured. "Why do you…?"

"I cross-referenced the dates on your tickets with the dates of previous smuggling cases that we have on file," Harry continued, droning on as if he was delivering a report, forcing himself to look at Malfoy instead of avoiding his eyes. "None of them match. I shouldn't have had sex with you while I was working a case, but I certainly would not have had sex with a suspect."

Harry waited for some kind of answer, but Malfoy seemed frozen on the spot, so he shrugged. "That's all there is to it," Harry said. "If you want to punch me for rifling through your stuff, go ahead. Just as long as you get it into your thick skull that I didn't sleep with you because of this fucking case!"

Malfoy crumpled the ticket in his hand and tossed it aside. His high cheekbones were marred with splotches of colour and the flush went down to his chest, past the vee of his bathrobe. He stood up, still shaking, and stepped around the table. Harry met his eyes.

"You thought I was a criminal," Malfoy snarled, grabbing Harry by the front of his shirt.

"At first," Harry replied.

Malfoy's fists tightened. "You went through my things."

"Yes."

"And you slept with me because…"

Harry stared up into Malfoy's pale grey eyes. It would be easy to lie, to say something casual about wanting to get laid. But there was something about the way Malfoy looked – raw, on edge – that demanded honesty. "Because I wanted you," Harry said, voice rasping in his throat. "I want you, and the only reason I regret last night is because afterwards everything has gone to hell in a handbasket and…"

He couldn't say anything more because Malfoy surged forward, crushing their lips together. Harry crashed against the back of the armchair, too stunned to even kiss him back at first. Then Malfoy climbed into his lap and Harry put a steadying hand on Malfoy's hip.

"You're not angry, then?" Harry murmured against Malfoy's lips.

Malfoy pulled back to glare at him. "Angry? I'm furious, Potter, but it will be nothing compared to what I'll be if you don't kiss me _now_."

Harry gave a shaky laugh and complied, tilting back his head to allow Malfoy better access.

It was very different from the other times he'd kissed Malfoy. Last night had been frantic, both of them desperate to get off, neither of them quite believing what was happening. This kiss was much slower, unhurried. Harry let Malfoy's tongue explore his mouth while his fingertips traced small circles on Malfoy's back.

When Malfoy broke the kiss and settled more comfortably over Harry, his knees bracketing Harry's, Harry's mouth went to Malfoy's neck. Harry kissed the red marks he'd left last night, parted Malfoy's bathrobe to continue his trail of kisses along Malfoy's collarbone, above a nipple, over his ribcage.

"You left marks everywhere," Malfoy pouted.

Harry looked up at him and couldn't suppress a grin. "You didn't seem to mind."

"That's not the point," Malfoy said, blushing furiously. Harry's grin widened. "Aren't you supposed to be kissing me?"

Harry hummed and placed a kiss on Malfoy's nipple, then suckled it lightly. He was rewarded with a small gasp and an involuntary movement of Malfoy's hips. Then Harry surged up to claim Malfoy's lips, kissing him thoroughly until his lips were cherry red and the pouting had been quite forgotten.

Malfoy's arms were now wrapped around Harry's shoulders, as if to hold him in place. Harry had no wish to go anywhere, unless it was to move into a bed. He ached to tear Malfoy's bathrobe open and to find out if Malfoy was wearing any underwear underneath.

It was early afternoon, though, and there were no beds in the cabin. Harry looked at Malfoy, whose eyes were slightly unfocused, then leaned his forehead on Malfoy's shoulder.

"I have bad news," he muttered. He heard Malfoy's snort reverberating through his chest. "I'm still on the job."

There was a pause. "If you're going to make a brainless joke about having to frisk me, Potter, so help me…"

Harry snickered. "I wish. But I still haven't found out the identities of the smugglers, or where the dragon eggs are hidden. I shouldn't… I should be out searching for them," he said, stopping himself just in time. He'd been about to say 'shouldn't waste time', and while Harry's superiors would put it that way, he doubted Malfoy would appreciate the turn of phrase. He pressed an apologetic kiss to Malfoy's collarbone.

Malfoy sighed and flopped against Harry, pinning him against the back of the armchair. "Killjoy," he murmured.

"Sorry," Harry replied. "I'll make it up to you later if you want to, but for now…"

"You better do that," Malfoy replied. He gave Harry one last, almost tender kiss that left him gasping for more, then got to his feet and adjusted his bathrobe. "Or else," he added, fixing Harry with a baleful glare. He grabbed some clothes from a hanger and disappeared inside the bathroom.

Harry stared at the closed door for a moment, still reeling from it all, then got up from the armchair. His legs had gone numb from Malfoy's weight. He took a few halting steps across the room, retrieving his glasses and his wand, and did his best in front of the mirror to try and appear decent.

"Who are your suspects?" Malfoy called from the bathroom.

Harry hesitated – he really shouldn't be discussing this – but it wasn't as if Malfoy didn't already know most of it from the case files. "The Dobrescus have been very secretive, they spend most of the time in their cabins." He waved his wand as he spoke, collecting all the pages and photographs that Malfoy had scattered around and tossing them back inside the folders haphazardly.

"The Dobrescus?!" Malfoy sounded so disbelieving, Harry could picture him raising one eyebrow in mock concern for Harry's sanity. "Impossible, they're rich…"

"Everyone on this train is rich," Harry pointed out. "Or at least well off. I know it sounds unlikely, but their cabins are the only ones I haven't searched yet and I couldn't find anything in the others."

There was some silence. "You searched all of them? So you didn't just invade my privacy because I'm special. I'm almost disappointed now. What about that Australian jerk?"

With a sharp gesture, Harry transfigured the folders into a pair of ratty old socks and threw them inside the wardrobe. "Sorry to disappoint but I don't think it's him. The Sneakoscope didn't go off even once while I was in his cabin, and I went through all his crap in the luggage car without finding anything even remotely resembling an egg."

"What a pity," Malfoy said. He emerged from the bathroom, looking much more like his usual self already. His hair was slicked back and a navy blue turtleneck hid all traces of hickeys from view. Only his lips were still a bit swollen, his eyes a bit brighter than usual when he sauntered next to Harry.

Malfoy crossed his arms and stared at Harry. "By the way, how did you get inside everyone else's cabin? I assume you did break in, like Ivan Volkov said."

Harry shook his head. "Er, actually," he said. "I've been using your tickets. I found out that old tickets still work, and you had a lot with different numbers, so…" he trailed off under Malfoy's glare.

"Very enterprising," Malfoy muttered. "And very illegal. Does anyone know about this? Bloody Express Company and all their outdated spellwork…"

"I'm going to let them know as soon as we reach Istanbul, don't worry," Harry said. He checked his watch and realized that he had less than thirty minutes before lunch ended. "Crap, I should go, I forgot I'll really have to break into no. 1 and 2. Too bad you haven't traveled in all cabins, I could've used a full set of tickets."

Malfoy gave him an odd look. "Sorry to disappoint, Potter. I'm still missing no. 2."

Harry, who already had one hand on the door handle, paused. "Wait, do you mean…?"

Malfoy turned around and grabbed a book from the writing desk. It was the book he'd been reading the other day, Harry realized, and the cream-and-gold bookmark sticking out from between the pages was unmistakably a train ticket. Malfoy plucked it out and held it between two fingers. "No. 1," he announced triumphantly.

It looked a bit dog-eared and somewhat older than the rest of the tickets, but it would do the trick. Harry grinned and made to take it, but Malfoy moved the ticket away from his reach.

"Not so fast," he said. "I'm rather attached to this ticket, thank you very much, and I'd rather you didn't lose it."

"I won't," Harry replied. "It's only at the other end of the corridor and when I'm done searching I'll come straight back." He peered at the ticket curiously, trying to read what it said.

Malfoy snorted and pocketed the ticket. "I'm afraid, Potter, that I can't trust you so easily. You have a history of lying to me," he added, leaning forward and smirking.

"Merlin's pants, Malfoy!" Harry exclaimed. "I don't have time for your games, give me the ticket!"

"Yes, so I suggest you get a move," Malfoy said. He nodded towards the door. "I won't hand you this ticket, but I will open the door for you, though don't ask me why I'm helping you violate other people's privacy like this. It's plain wrong. Now hurry up before they come back from lunch."

Harry was too relieved to argue. They snuck across the corridor, which thankfully was deserted. No. 1's door depicted a dragon, forever frozen in the act of blowing a stream of fire from its mouth. Harry knocked, waited several seconds to make sure that nobody was inside, then nodded to Malfoy and stepped aside. The flames billowed and swirled as Malfoy showed the ticket to the dragon.

"Hurry up," Malfoy whispered, glancing up and down the corridor. "Are you sure this will work?"

"It worked with the others," Harry replied. "Maybe this ticket is too old? It's from, what, ten years ago?"

As he was saying that, the door clicked open. Harry rushed in, heaving a sigh of relief, which died in his throat when he realized that Malfoy had followed him. The door closed behind the two of them.

"What are you doing?" Harry whispered.

Malfoy walked past straight him, looking around the cabin. "You don't have to keep your voice down, there's Muffling Charms in here," he pointed out. "Where do you think the eggs could be?"

"I don't know!" Harry replied. "Inside their trunks, I suppose, there's not much space anywhere else."

Despite being a suite, no. 1 wasn't much larger than the other cabins. The main difference was that it had been built for a single occupant, not two. The furniture was similar to the other cabins, but there was a single sofa in place of two armchairs, and the embroidery on the cushions looked rather more fancy.

Malfoy peered inside the closet. "Aha!" he exclaimed, theatrically opening the door. "I remembered right. Look, it connects to no. 2 on the other side."

Harry looked to where he was pointing. On the opposite side of the closet, instead of a wall, there was another door.

"Brilliant!" he exclaimed. "Thanks, Malfoy, that really helps. You've got to leave now though."

Malfoy rolled his eyes and walked over to the nearest trunk, flipping the lid open and peering inside.

"Malfoy…"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist," Malfoy said, tapping the inside of the trunk absently with his wand. "There's not much time and it'll go quicker with the two of us."

"You do realize this is trespassing, right?" Harry said, but he was already moving on, crossing the closet to no. 2 opposite. He didn't have time to argue with Malfoy, and if the git wanted to risk being caught, so be it. "Don't complain to me if you get thrown in jail."

"Oh, but I will complain, Potter, if only because we'll be in the same cell," Malfoy said. "I don't believe British Aurors have any jurisdiction here, or else you wouldn't be sneaking around like this."

As they were talking, Harry quickly pulled the Sneakoscope from his pocket and set it on the table, then placed one end of the Extendable Ear in the crack under the door. This time, he didn't plan on being caught unawares if anyone came in.

From the closet came the sound of Malfoy banging stuff about. "Do you even know how to perform a search?" Harry called out. "We're not supposed to make it completely obvious that we went through their stuff."

Harry opened no. 2's wardrobe and gave it a quick once-over. The jeweled cufflinks alone had to be worth a small fortune, but he couldn't find anything related to the case.

"I didn't realize that Auror training included courses in burglary and house-breaking," Malfoy drawled. "What an impressive education."

Harry's face reddened. "These are special circumstances," he said. "Last week, you were saying the Ministry is not even trying to solve this case. Well, we are trying! There was too much bureaucratic red tape involved in setting up an international task force, or would you rather we wait until the eggs hatch and we get reports of dragons loose in the streets?"

Malfoy huffed. "Whatever you tell yourself so you can sleep at night. Don't worry, I'll put everything back just as I found it." A pause. "Or close enough, at any rate."

"Malfoy, this is not a joke…" Harry froze. "Did you hear that?"

"Yes, I heard you, Potter," Malfoy replied. "Don't worry, I'm taking this very seriously. You should…"

With his Extendable Ear, Harry could hear approaching footsteps and the sound of conversation in the corridor. "Someone's coming," he hissed. He slammed closed the drawer he was examining, pocketed all his things and hurried back to the closet. "Close both doors, quickly!"

Malfoy did so and they were plunged into almost complete darkness. "Who's coming?" he asked. "Is it them?"

"I don't know!" Harry whispered. "Lower your voice. It might be someone else, let's just wait a minute to see if anyone comes in."

Malfoy laughed and moved closer to Harry. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you are trying to get me alone in a narrow, dark space," he said, close enough that Harry could feel his breath on his face.

"You know perfectly well that's not the case," Harry said, but damn if Malfoy wasn't distracting when he leaned forward to kiss him in the dark.

Malfoy's lips missed Harry's mouth and brushed against Harry's cheek instead. Harry was glad that the darkness hid any possible blush. The casual touch felt somehow more intimate than most of what they'd done last night – it was how you'd kiss a boyfriend, not a one-time sexual partner. Harry had come to terms with the fact that he fancied Malfoy, but he wasn't ready to think about going any further than that, not right now.

Harry was about to step away from Malfoy when the sound of an opening door made him freeze. Next to him, Malfoy tensed up. They heard the sound of footsteps and laughter coming from Harry's left, from cabin no. 2, and then a loud thud. More laughter. Voices, talking in a language Harry didn't understand.

"The Dobrescus," Malfoy whispered in Harry's ear. His tone was suddenly very serious and very frantic.

Harry squeezed his arm. "Let's go," he whispered back. He moved towards the other door, the one leading back to no. 1. Thank goodness for having an escape route, at least.

He moved slowly, inching past Malfoy with tiny steps, for fear he'd knock into one of the trunks and give away their presence with the noise. It felt as if every possible inch of floor was filled with trunks and cases. Malfoy moved silently next to him. Behind them, from the other cabin, the Dobrescus were still laughing and talking.

"Quick," Malfoy murmured.

"Shut up!" Harry hissed. His hand finally found the handle. He turned it and stumbled out of the closet into the empty cabin no. 1, Malfoy following on his heels. As quietly as they could, they closed the door and tiptoed across the cabin to the door.

Harry cast one last regretful glance to the cabin he didn't have the time to search, then Malfoy opened the door and tugged him outside. Thanks to a stroke of luck, nobody was in the corridor to witness their exit. Once they were safely outside the room and the door had closed behind them, Harry and Malfoy looked at each other and broke into a nervous laughter.

Malfoy's face was even paler than usual. "I really thought we'd end up sharing a jail cell," he said.

"No kidding," Harry replied. He checked his watch. "It's way too early, they must have skipped dessert to finish lunch so soon."

"Ah. About that," Malfoy said, blushing slightly. "I, er, caught some of their conversation…"

"I didn't know you spoke Romanian," Harry said with some surprise.

"I don't," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. "A few words sounded similar to French, though."

"So what were they talking about?" Harry asked in an undertone. They started walking down the corridor, away from the scene of the crime.

Malfoy looked behind their shoulders. "Well, I didn't catch the details but, er, mostly it seemed like they were talking about sex," he said without meeting Harry's eyes.

Harry grinned at Malfoy's uncomfortable expression. "Since when are you a prude? It must be a _very_ recent thing, because last night you…"

"That's a different thing!" Malfoy exclaimed. "Seriously, Potter, how can you be so thick-skinned? It's horribly embarrassing to accidentally eavesdrop on someone's private conversation, especially when they're saying that… Oh, never mind, it's none of your business, or mine either."

They retreated to their cabin, where Malfoy sank into the armchair morosely and started poking the forgotten lunch tray.

"So it's not them?" Harry said. He would have liked to find some conclusive evidence and close the case, but at the same time he was relieved the Wizengamot wouldn't have to try and prosecute two high-ranking foreigners.

Malfoy shrugged. "It sounded as if this is their anniversary and they're on a second honeymoon."

"Ah. That would explain why they're never around."

"And why I found a pair of handcuffs in their trunk. I was about to tell you," he added, in response to Harry's questioning look. "In hindsight, I'm glad I didn't go through the rest of their things, or who knows what I might have found."

"I told you to stay behind," Harry pointed out. "Where were your moral scruples then?"

"You should be glad I came along," Malfoy retorted. "Otherwise who knows what could have happened. You might have been caught red-handed going through their sex toys."

Harry shuddered.

It occurred to both of them that they hadn't eaten yet, so Malfoy helped himself to the chicken soup while Harry stole most of the sandwiches.

As they ate, they discussed the other passengers. Harry had been inside all the other cabins, and searched the passengers' luggage with various degrees of thoroughness. He still hadn't found the dragon eggs, though, which meant that at some point he'd overlooked something. The other possibility, which was so depressing he refused to even mention it out loud, was that the informant's tip had not been genuine and the eggs had never been on the European Express in the first place.

"What about that insufferable Australian?" Malfoy asked for the umpteenth time. "He looks suspicious to me."

"I don't think so," Harry said, brushing a few crumbs from his jeans. Malfoy wrinkled his nose. "I suppose it's possible it's him, and that the eggs are hidden somewhere among his souvenirs, but then who's his accomplice?"

Malfoy shrugged. "He's working alone," he suggested.

"Can't be," Harry replied. "It's a job for at least two or three people. The Auror department has investigated this case, you know, despite what you might think."

Malfoy gave him a look that pretty much summed up his opinion of the Auror department's capabilities. "All right, then. Assuming that by sheer accident you're right about this, who's on top of your suspect list right now?"

Everyone, Harry was tempted to say. "If I had to guess? The two Germans next door in no. 8. I haven't found anything that incriminates them, but I haven't found anything that exonerates them either."

Malfoy considered this. "Of course," he drawled, "given you can't even figure out the culprit in a mystery book, we both know how much your guess is worth."

"Actual Auror work is completely different from what's in books," Harry complained.

"I'm sure it is," Malfoy replied. "I'm just questioning whether you have any aptitude for either." He grinned in response to Harry's dark look. "What? Just because I think you're hot, it doesn't mean I'm suddenly putting my trust in the justice system."

"Git," Harry muttered, though he filed away for later the part where Malfoy had called him hot. He got up and headed for the door. "I'm just losing time here. It's already past two o'clock. We'll cross the border into Bulgaria in less than two hours."

Malfoy got up too, stretching like a cat. "So what do we do next?"

"We?" Harry snorted. " _You_ stay here, _I_ am going to search the luggage car again."

Malfoy's grin widened. He sauntered up to Harry and linked their arms together. "Really? And how are you going to stop me from tagging along, now that I know all about your secret and rather illegal investigation? Hmm?"

His grin was really getting on Harry's nerves. Harry didn't know if he wanted to kiss Malfoy to wipe the grin off his face, or simply punch him in the mouth. Bit of both, really. He disentangled his arm from Malfoy's grip and marched out of the cabin and towards the end of the train. Malfoy, of course, followed him.

"Why do you want to tag along, anyway?" Harry asked, fuming. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Not really," Malfoy said. "I'm enjoying these opportunities to get trapped in dark closets with you."

Despite his insistence in treating the whole thing like a joke, Harry resigned himself to Malfoy's presence. At least Malfoy made himself useful when he bribed the porter on guard so he'd let them inside the luggage car.

For a place that was supposed to be off-limits while the train was in motion, it was certainly easy to get inside. Harry started doing a methodical sweep of all the trunks and crates and bags and assorted items, while Malfoy wandered about poking things and making inane comments.

After several minutes of that, Harry's head snapped around. "If you really must stick around," he said, stopping Malfoy in the middle of a rant about different varieties of roses, "you might at least try to help me search!"

"What do you think I'm doing?" Malfoy sighed, gesturing to the gigantic flower pot next to him.

"I think you're being loud and distracting and useless," Harry snapped.

Malfoy gave him a sly grin. "I could be even more distracting if you wanted me to," he said, and Harry resolutely did not conjure up any mental images at those words. "I didn't think you objected to my being… loud." Concentrate on the job at hand, Harry thought, concentrate. "But, useless? I resent being called that, especially when I'm covering much more ground than you."

"How?" Harry snorted. He gestured to a long row of luggage. "I've already gone through almost all of these, what about you?"

"I'm positive nothing's in there, or in that area either," Malfoy replied, giving Harry a triumphant look and making a sweeping gesture towards the front half of the car.

Harry shook his head and moved to the next piece of luggage, which looked more like a sarcophagus than a trunk. "How do you know? You haven't even looked at most of that stuff!"

"Ah, but I don't need to!" Malfoy exclaimed. He sauntered close to Harry and leaned against the sarcophagus. "I figured that, unless your smugglers are completely incompetent, they're going to transfigure the stolen dragon eggs, or at least camouflage them in some way so the staff won't accidentally discover them."

"I could have told you that much," Harry scoffed.

"So I'm using a Revealing Charm to check which items have been enchanted to look different in some way, like the rosebush over there." Malfoy gave Harry a look, as if he expected ten points to Slytherin for this stroke of genius. "You don't have to check every single thing in here, Potter: this ugly trunk only contains really ugly robes."

Harry glanced at the folded garments in his hands. "I prefer to check every single thing, thank you very much," he said. He hadn't thought about Revealing Charms, mostly because he wasn't sure of which one to use in the current situation, or whether the wand movement was clockwise or anti-clockwise.

Malfoy however seemed very confident and flitted ahead from item to item, occasionally doubling back to tease Harry or to bemoan their failure to find anything.

Harry hoped that Malfoy would get tired of the fruitless effort after a while, but after two hours of tedious searching Malfoy still showed no signs of giving up. Around half past four Harry started to get nervous. The train was approaching Sofia: it was the first stop in Bulgaria, and so the first real chance for the smugglers to make off with the dragon eggs.

They had to pause their search while the train was stopping at the station. The porters didn't want passengers underfoot as they levitated the pieces of luggage up and down to the platform, and besides Harry needed to keep an eye on the passengers who were leaving the train.

Malfoy kept up his running commentary as they stood side by side in the platform. The chatter was distracting, but not as much as the way Malfoy leaned forward to whisper in Harry's ear to avoid being overheard by passers-by.

"It's not there," Malfoy hissed. "Are you sure it's not in one of the other cars?"

"It's either inside the luggage car or on the London-Istanbul," Harry replied, leaning maybe closer to Malfoy than was strictly necessary. The weather was cold, he'd forgotten his cloak as usual, and his breath formed small white puffs whenever he spoke.

Malfoy was rubbing his hands absently. Harry glanced down at his own reddening fingers, fidgeted for a moment, then stuck his hands in his pockets and went back to staring at the train. "Well, it's not inside the luggage car," Malfoy said. "I searched it, you searched it… You must have missed something when you searched the cabins."

Harry was starting to believe so as well. Despite Malfoy's condescending tone, as if Harry was a bumbling moron who couldn't do anything right, there was no other possible explanation unless the eggs had vanished into thin air. Frowning, Harry thought back to all the cabins he'd gone through. Sometimes he'd done nothing more than a cursory walkaround – he very well might have overlooked a possible hiding place.

Mrs. Simplon came down the train, followed by the twins who were quite sensibly wrapped in cloaks, scarves and mittens. The girls immediately noticed Malfoy and rushed over to ask why he hadn't come to play chess with them, while Mrs. Simplon congratulated him on his speedy recovery.

"But should you be out and about?" she kept asking. "Are you dressed warmly enough? Why, you're not even wearing a cloak and the weather is so chilly, you'll get sick again…"

"I assure you, Doris, I'm perfectly fine now," Malfoy said in spite of the fact that his grin was freezing on his face. "It was merely a brief lapse and I feel much better already."

"Meaning that you made a fuss about nothing," Harry muttered.

Both Malfoy and Mrs. Simplon gave him an offended look. The twins, however, not to be overdone in the fuss department, decided it was the perfect time to throw a tantrum.

"Mom, I'm tired, I don't wanna walk any more," one of the girls started saying, while the other tugged at her mother's bag and asked for her orange juice.

Mrs. Simplon gave a weary sigh and started rummaging inside her enormous handbag. "We're not going very far at all, mommy only wants to go to the newspaper kiosk. Here's your juice, dear. Marigold, please come along now…"

"But mooom, I'm so tired!" the twin in question complained, bouncing up and down.

"Can we get some candy too?" the other twin asked, starting to drag her mother away.

"Pleeease, mom, can I stay here with Mr. Draco and Mr. Harry?" the first twin piped up.

"Well, I'm not sure they…" Mrs. Simplon began, glancing between Malfoy and Harry.

Harry gave Marigold a wary look. Malfoy, curse him, just went on smiling. "Of course we can keep an eye on her while you finish your errand, Doris."

Mrs. Simplon assured them that she would be back in a jiffy. She then proceeded to waste several minutes looking for a handkerchief, helping one daughter blow her nose, tying her shoelace, handing more orange juice to the other daughter, and admonishing her not to run off for any reason. She made it sound like a thing that had happened quite often in the past, and Harry was partially vindicated by the slightly panicked expression that appeared on Malfoy's face.

At least, Harry thought, it didn't seem as if the dragon eggs were being moved here. It would have been awkward if he had to start chasing the smugglers while he was supposed to be babysitting someone else's child, though if it came to it he'd just let Malfoy deal with Marigold.

Thankfully the girl didn't seem about to run off on her own. She was staring up at Harry and noisily slurping orange juice from her sippy cup.

"Are you enjoying your holiday?" Malfoy asked her.

She nodded, an enthusiastic yes. "Why didn't you come and play chess with us this morning?" she asked. "Mr. Harry came instead, but he plays _bad_. He _lost_ ," she said, with as much contempt as an eight-year old could muster. (Harry guessed she might have been eight. Or six, maybe. Or ten? He was not very good at guessing children's ages, really.)

Malfoy smirked. "Did he?" he said. "Potter, you amaze me, is there no end to the things you're bad at?"

"I had to let them win!" Harry murmured, too low for the girl to hear. "Besides, it's your fault for bailing…"

"Don't whisper," Malfoy scolded him. "You're giving Marigold a bad example. You see, Marigold, it's not polite to exclude people from the conversation."

Marigold assumed a very solemn expression and nodded, while Harry glowered in silence.

In all fairness, Malfoy was better at dealing with children than Harry would have given him credit for. He replied with great seriousness while Marigold asked him questions about Istanbul and all the interesting places that one could visit in the city. She pestered Harry with questions, too, but she was rather disappointed to learn that Harry didn't know much about Turkey at all.

"It was, er, a spur of the moment thing," Harry tried to explain. "A sudden decision. So I didn't really plan ahead or anything. It's, er, going to be an adventure," he added, trying to sound enthusiastic about it.

Marigold didn't seem convinced. "But why?" she asked again.

After the tenth _why_ , Malfoy took pity on Harry's discomfort and distracted the girl with tales of the Grand Bazaar, whose covered streets housed many magical stalls completely invisible to Muggles.

Harry's mind wandered off. He glanced between the luggage car and the end of the platform, wondering how long Mrs. Simplon was going to take. Malfoy didn't seem to mind making small talk with the child, but after a while Marigold started to look bored and sat down on a bench, kicking her heels against the concrete. It seemed only a matter of time until she started making mischief.

"How come you're good with children?" Harry asked Malfoy.

Malfoy snorted. "It's not hard, Potter. Talk normally instead of babying them. Treat them like you'd have wanted adults to treat you when you were little."

Harry thought back about his childhood. "Mostly I just wanted adults to stop yelling at me," he said. "My uncle especially. But I don't think that's what you meant." He instantly regretted saying it, because Malfoy looked horrified.

"Muggles," he muttered contemptuously.

"Hey, they're not all bad!" Harry exclaimed. "In fact my Muggle relatives are much nicer now. I mean, uncle Vernon still yells a lot, but he yells at everyone and everything really… What about you?" he added quickly. "Somehow I get the idea you were raised by a small army of house-elves."

"Of course not," Malfoy replied contemptuously. Harry raised an eyebrow: he couldn't picture Narcissa or Lucius Malfoy taking care of a young child. "House-elves are not well suited to raising human children," Malfoy continued. "I had a nanny."

"Of course you did," Harry murmured.

The large clock overhead showed it was ten past five. Harry had a sudden vision of being stuck with Marigold if her mother failed to catch the train – a stupid thought, since the conductor would wait for her. At any rate, he ought to be concentrating on his case.

Harry glanced at Malfoy. "You might have a point about Andy," he said. "Truth is, I thought other people were more suspicious for various reasons, but now I'm not sure. He might have the… the thing, among his things," he concluded, hastily amending himself. Marigold had stopped kicking his heels and was staring at him, and the last thing he needed was a child babbling about dragon eggs and spooking the smugglers into doing something rash.

"The thing might be among the things?" Malfoy repeated. "I suppose you think that's a proper sentence?"

"What's the thing?" Marigold piped up.

"Nothing," Malfoy quickly said. "Potter was just talking nonsense. He does a lot of that, the trick is not to pay attention to it."

Marigold giggled at that and thankfully didn't press Harry any further. Harry was even happier when he noticed her mother and sister had returned and were waving at them as they walked across the platform. Violet was licking an enormous green and pink lollipop.

"Hello!" Mrs. Simplon said, looking rather harried as she tried to stuff a newspaper in her handbag which was already full to bursting. "I hope you didn't think we'd abandoned you all… that shop… full of people, the queue was so long…"

Malfoy assured her that it was fine and that Marigold had been no trouble at all. Possibly to compensate for that, the girl immediately started to whine about wanting a lollipop. When Mrs. Simplon finally herded both girls on the train, Harry drew a sigh of relief.

"Oh, come on, Potter!" Malfoy exclaimed. "It wasn't that hard to look after a kid for a few minutes. In fact, if you mess up this case and lose your job, you might reinvent yourself as a nanny," he added in an undertone.

"I'd rather not," Harry grumbled. "Come on and hurry up," he muttered, staring at the porters who were idling in front of the luggage car, waiting for the conductor's signal to close the doors.

"What's the hurry?" Malfoy asked.

"I still have to finish checking a few trunks in the luggage car, and then I'd like to have another look inside Andy's cabin."

"What a good idea," Malfoy drawled. "And have you thought about how you're going to get past him and Volkov? In case you've forgotten, Volkov is still determined to hide in that cabin for the rest of the journey."

Harry had no idea. He thought about it in the following hours, while he went through the luggage car once more with no results. He came up with several plans for distracting Andy or Volkov but each seemed more implausible than the next. It might be possible to trick Andy with some excuse, but Harry didn't know what he could say to get rid of Volkov, especially since their first meeting had gone so badly.

Malfoy had fallen silent. After wandering around for a bit, he sat down on what looked like a sofa covered with a white canvas and seemed to fall into a daydream. Harry almost missed the background chatter; he would have bounced a few ideas off Malfoy, but he knew that they would have been derided as ridiculous. The trouble was that, if Harry couldn't come up with anything better, one of those ridiculous ideas would have to do.

Harry was thinking whether it was possible to put together a makeshift dungbomb with the contents of his trunk and set it off in the corridor when Malfoy suddenly stood up and advanced on him. "I have an idea," he said, his eyes sparkling. "It will work, but you have to trust me and do as I say."

"All right," Harry said.

Before he could ask anything, Malfoy pushed him back against a stack of trunks and kissed him fiercely. All the breath went out of Harry's lungs. He wrapped one hand behind Malfoy's head, curling his fingers in the short hair at the nape of Malfoy's neck.

Malfoy kissed him until he was almost too dizzy to think. Harry could taste the coppery tang of blood at the corner of Malfoy's mouth, where Malfoy's lip had split during their earlier tussle. It didn't seem to bother Malfoy now. He teased Harry's lower lip between his teeth, then started pressing a series of kisses along Harry's jawline.

"Malfoy, what…" Harry managed to say. "What are you…"

Malfoy's eyelashes fluttered. His lips brushed against Harry's pulse point. "Will you do as I say?"

"Not if you don't tell me what you're planning to… ah," Harry gasped. Malfoy had bitten down on the sensitive skin of his neck, not enough to really hurt but certainly hard enough to get his dick tentatively interested. "Not now, Malfoy, I don't have time for this," he said, even as he thrust against him involuntarily, seeking some friction.

Malfoy simply hummed and licked the same spot on Harry's neck, sending a wave of shivers down Harry's neck.

Then, just when Harry's jeans were starting to feel a bit too tight for comfort, Malfoy gave him one last kiss and stepped back.

Harry's back slid down the trunks slightly and he stared at Malfoy with a dumbfounded expression. "What the hell, Malfoy?"

Malfoy just gave him a slow, lazy grin. He looked very pleased with himself. "Here's what I think," Malfoy said. "You're not going to be able to get Volkov out of his cabin, and you're not going to be able to search through your friend Andy's possessions if Volkov is there."

"I know that already," Harry said, not quite following where Malfoy was headed.

"Then the solution is simple: I'll just have to go through Andy's possessions while Volkov is there."

"What?"

"Listen to me, Potter, and marvel at my genius," Malfoy said with a grin. "You're going to go and knock on no. 3's door now, and if Andy is there you're going to make up some excuse to go and talk to him in private."

Harry made a face. "I don't like this plan already."

"Don't look at me like that, I don't like this part either but we have to get rid of him somehow," Malfoy said curtly. "Take him to the café if you're worried about your virtue. Say you'd like to, urgh, remain friends or something like that." He shuddered. "Just make sure to keep him busy for a while. Then, while he's not around, I'll ask Volkov to let me inside so I can search Andy's luggage."

Harry blinked, then leaned forward to place his hand on Malfoy forehead. "Are you sure you're not sick after all? You're talking complete nonsense."

Malfoy swatted his hand away. "Obviously I'm not going to put it quite like that. I'm going to tell Volkov that Andy's friend – you – lent him a book, or something, and that you need it back."

"You think he'll let you in?" Harry asked.

"I'm sure he will, when I tell him that the alternative is you'll go and collect the book yourself." Malfoy smirked. "Since he hates your guts, he'll do anything to avoid that. I quite understand that feeling."

It was stupid, and reckless, and Harry would have to trust Malfoy with it and hope nothing went wrong. He didn't have any alternatives, though, so he just shrugged his shoulders. "All right," he said, resigned.

There wasn't much time until the next stop, so they hurried out of the luggage car. As they walked down the corridor, Harry caught his reflection in one of the large windows. There was an angry splotch of red on his neck just above his collar.

Blushing, Harry covered it with one hand. "What did you have to go and give me a hickey for?" he hissed. "Are you twelve?"

"Says the one who mouth-mauled me last night," Malfoy said. "I've got delicate skin and I'll have to wear turtlenecks for _ages_ until the marks fade." Harry tried not to look too smug at that. "Besides I thought you wouldn't mind, since you once spent a whole school year showing off the hickeys you got from your girlfriends."

Harry snorted at that. "I only had one girlfriend at school… well, two I guess… but I never… I mean, er, I guess Ginny once…"

"See?" Malfoy cut him off, looking triumphant. "Just as I said. Besides, this is part of my genius plan: if you're going to talk to Andy, it will be good to remind him that you're not available. To him," he added quickly, looking aside.

Harry wasn't sure that how Malfoy meant those words, and there was no time to get into it now. He wasn't even sure that he wanted Malfoy, lust aside, not like that. Still, the thought that Malfoy had wanted to claim him in that small way gave Harry a warm feeling in his chest.

"Of course," Harry said, keeping his voice level, "you realize I'm going to cover this with a scarf at once." He grinned.

"I suppose it can't be helped," Malfoy said. He didn't seem sorry in the least.

As they were crossing the carriage that Harry thought of as the conservatory, they came across one of the twins walking in the opposite direction.

"Hello, Marigold," Malfoy greeted her. "Where are you going?"

She frowned and stopped, looking between the two of them. "I'm not Marigold, I'm Violet!" she exclaimed.

Malfoy was taken aback, and Harry snickered at his obvious surprise. "Aren't you going to apologize for your mistake?" Harry asked, imitating Malfoy's lecturing tone. "Where are your manners, Malfoy?"

"I'm sorry, Violet," Malfoy said between his teeth. "I was confused."

"That's okay," Violet said breezily. "Nobody can tell me and Marigold apart. Not even mommy and daddy sometimes." She giggled.

Harry had a sudden pang of sadness thinking about his first meeting with the Weasley twins. "So, Violet, where are you off to?" he asked quickly.

"Oh… I forgot my toy here," she said.

"I see," Harry said. "We'd stay and help you search, but we're in a hurry. Can you manage on your own?"

"Of course, duh," she said. "I'm not a little child."

Malfoy, who had been following the exchange as if in a daze, suddenly gave a snort of laughter. "Of course," he echoed. "Come on, Potter, hurry along. Goodbye Violet."

The girl waved bye bye and Malfoy almost dragged Harry out of the carriage.

"Malfoy, there's no need to be all moody just because you've mixed up their names…" Harry began.

Malfoy shook his head vehemently. "No, it's impossible," he muttered.

They were in the middle of an empty corridor. Malfoy stopped suddenly and spun around, facing Harry. "It wasn't a mistake. I haven't mixed them up because I know for sure that Marigold Simplon has a mole on her ear. Right here," he said, pointing to a spot on the rim of his left ear. "I noticed it yesterday, and then again not two hours ago."

Thinking back, Harry couldn't recall the detail, but then again he hadn't been looking for a way to tell the twins apart. He'd been more concerned with his smuggling case. "So?" he asked.

"So that girl can't be Violet if she has a mole," Malfoy said.

Harry wasn't sure why he was getting so worked up. "Maybe she's Marigold and she's playing a prank. Twins do that sometimes."

"I don't think that's the case," Malfoy replied. He still had that distant, distracted look in his eyes. "Come on, we don't have time to dawdle."

They hurried back to the London-Istanbul. Harry wanted to stop at their cabin first, to cover up the embarrassing hickey, but Malfoy grabbed his hand and dragged him one door further down the corridor. He knocked.

"Malfoy, what are you playing at?" Harry asked.

Mrs. Simplon opened the door and smiled at them. "Hello Draco," she said. She looked faintly puzzled by their presence, a feeling that Harry shared. "What's up?"

Malfoy gave her his most winsome smile. "I just remembered I'd promised the girls I'd teach them how to play chess. I'm so sorry I forgot about it."

"Oh, no need to apologize," she said. "Your friend Harry was an excellent substitute. Didn't you tell him?" she added, to Harry.

"I still feel badly about it," Malfoy interjected. "Maybe we can reschedule for tomorrow morning instead. What do you say, Marigold?"

The girl, who was poking at the books on the bookcase, turned around at that. "Sure, Mr. Draco."

Harry stared at her.

"Thanks, it's kind of you to offer," Mrs. Simplon said. "They do get bored so easily…"

She would have invited them inside for a cup of tea, but Malfoy cited the need to get some rest before dinner, to avoid a relapse of his earlier, mysterious illness.

As soon as Mrs. Simplon closed the door, Malfoy grabbed Harry's arm. "Did you see it?" he hissed.

"Not here!" Harry shot back, dragging him towards their cabin.

They rushed inside, talking over each other in their haste.

"She has a mole on her ear! Identical to her sister's!"

"See? I told you, I _told_ you I wasn't wrong!"

"Even twins aren't one hundred percent identical!" Harry exclaimed, throwing himself into the armchair and taking his head in his hands. He hadn't seen Violet's mole, but he had no reason to doubt Malfoy's word. Marigold did have a mole on her ear that was identical to what Malfoy described.

Malfoy went to stand next to the window and crossed his arms, staring off at the fields and hills rolling by. "Obviously two people can't be one hundred percent identical," he said. "Which means that they're not twins, they're just posing…"

"Polyjuice Potion," Harry said with sudden certainty. "Two people drinking the same batch of Polyjuice Potion can pass as twins."

"They'd need enough potion for three or four days," Malfoy added, slowly. He snapped his fingers. "The orange juice that they're drinking all the time."

Harry groaned, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Mrs. Simplon has to be in it, too," he said. "I had ruled her out because which kind of smuggler brings her daughters along while working…"

"Didn't you go through their cabins?"

"I didn't even think about including two girls in pigtails in my suspect list," Harry said. "I had a look around, my Sneakoscope didn't go off…"

"Some Auror you are," Malfoy muttered. "This is one half-arsed investigation."

Harry stood up and advanced on Malfoy. "Hey, you were sure it was Andy until ten minutes ago!"

"Listen here, Potter, do I need to remind you that if it wasn't for me you'd still be in the dark?" Malfoy snapped.

They faced each other, fists clenched. Harry grabbed the front of Malfoy's turtleneck. "Don't tell me what… Oh, fuck," he said as a sudden revelation hid him like a stunning spell.

Malfoy's face was already turning crimson from rage. "I don't really think this is the time to think about sex!" he snarled.

Harry let go of him and stumbled back. "No, I was… Oh, fuck, no!" he exclaimed with feeling. He looked into Malfoy's eyes. "Do you remember what I said this afternoon in Sofia Central Station?"

It wasn't what Malfoy was expecting. "Er… something about your Muggle relatives?" he said. "What has that to do with anything?"

"Not that," Harry said. "About Andy. I said something about suspecting him, I said I thought he had the eggs…"

As realization dawned on Malfoy, his face became more and more horrified. He stared at Harry. "Merlin," he whispered.

"I don't think I actually said anything about dragon eggs," Harry continued. "I can't remember exactly what I said. But even so…"

"We were talking right in front of the girl," Malfoy concluded. "If it's them, it will be more than enough to let them know you're on the case."

"Worse," Harry said, feeling sick to his stomach. "For all they know, _we_ are on the case."

It didn't matter that Malfoy was a civilian, or that he'd butted into the investigation despite Harry's best attempts to keep him out of it. Whatever the smugglers were planning, they had to act in the next few hours before the train left Bulgaria. Their previous crimes had not been violent, according to the case files, but then again the Aurors had always been in the dark about the smuggling, only learning that the stolen dragon eggs had left Britain when they resurfaced elsewhere. If the Simplons felt cornered, who knew how they might react? Harry was ready to take necessary risks in the line of duty, but he wasn't planning to risk someone else's safety in the bargain, not even Malfoy's. Especially not Malfoy's.

"They might not know we're on to them," Malfoy was saying. "For all they know we're still suspecting Andy."

"Stop saying 'we'," Harry interrupted him. "You're a civilian, you've got nothing to do with this. You're going to stay inside and lock the door and I'm going to deal with this."

"Are you, Potter?" Malfoy said. "Do you think that facing three criminals on your own gives you better odds?"

"Yes, if the alternative is facing three criminals while trying to protect a liability!"

Malfoy paled and turned aside. "Are you worried my family will sue the Ministry if I get myself killed? Afraid of what the Daily Prophet would print about you?"

He was trembling with some suppressed emotion, maybe rage, maybe also a bit of fear as the reality of the situation sank in. Harry wanted to shake him and tell him that it would be fine, that the Simplons would be put behind bars before they had a chance to harm anyone. More than anything else, Harry wanted to tell Malfoy that he couldn't risk having him around because he wasn't sure he could keep a cool head in a situation where Malfoy was in danger.

Instead, Harry simply shrugged. "Just stay out of the way." There would be time for explanations later, once the crisis was past.

"I still don't like the idea of you going after those thugs on your own," Malfoy said. He curled his lips in distaste. "Or do you get a kick out of having the odds stacked against you?"

"I don't," Harry said. Now that Malfoy had agreed to stay put, he could think more easily.

They were still a few hours away from the next station, the wizarding village of Narechen in a rural part of the country. It was very likely that the eggs would be moved there, or shortly after when the train was crossing the Rhodopes. It would be easy enough to pull the emergency stop, especially if they were accomplices nearby with broomsticks or another means for quick escape.

The best course of action, then, was to act quickly and catch the smugglers unawares. "I'm going to alert the Bulgarian Aurors," Harry said. "I saw a few people boarding the train with owls yesterday, I'll ask one of them to let me send an urgent message. We're still close to Sofia, as the owl flies, so the Bulgarians can send a team to intercept the train before we reach the next station."

Malfoy considered this. "The plan is not nearly as stupid or as reckless as I'd have expected of you," he drawled. "I'm impressed, Potter."

Coming from him, it was almost a compliment. "Right, well, best not to waste any more time," Harry said, turning away.

"Wait!" Malfoy exclaimed. With two quick steps he crossed the room. For a moment Harry thought Malfoy meant to go back on his word and refuse to remain inside the cabin after all, but that wasn't the case. There was a brass circle on the wall next to the door, roughly in the same position where a Muggle light switch would be; Malfoy tapped it thrice with his wand in quick succession and bells rang faintly in the distance.

"I've called the conductor," Malfoy explained. "The staff has a two-way mirror that they use in case of emergency, it will be quicker than sending an owl without knowing when it will arrive."

Harry considered this. "Good idea," he conceded. "But I don't want to put the conductor in danger either."

"Just tell him that there's stolen dragon eggs on the train and he'll help. He won't want the European Express linked with rumours of smuggling…"

There was a knock at the door. "Did you call for me?" the conductor called out. "Is everything all right?"

Malfoy spun around and opened the door. "That was prompt," he said with a grin. "Come inside, _monsieur_."

"I need to contact the Bulgarian authorities," Harry said. "Urgently."

The conductor's eyes went wide. He hovered in the doorway, glancing between Harry and Malfoy. "Why?" he asked, hesitantly, as if he was afraid of what the answer might be. "What's going on?"

Harry also hesitated. He didn't want to cause a panic, but the train staff needed to be told the truth. "I suspect a breach of the International Trade Laws. It involves Class A Non-Tradeable Goods," he said in an undertone.

"Ah," the conductor said. He took a large handkerchief and wiped his brow. "A very serious matter. Bad business. You have proof of this?"

Harry nodded. "I know where the contraband is hidden. I mean, we do," he amended, catching Malfoy's eye.

"Very bad business," the conductor muttered. "Please follow me into my office and I'll arrange for you to contact the authorities."

"Thank you," Harry said. He took half a step towards the door. Suddenly it occurred to him that the conductor hadn't asked him _where_ the dragon eggs were hidden, or which passengers were involved. In fact the conductor didn't seem very surprised at all. He was nervous, but not surprised.

Without breaking his stride, Harry's right hand went to his wand pocket.

Just then Malfoy, who had been watching the conductor, frowned. "What happened to your accent?" he asked.

It happened too quickly: the conductor stepped towards Malfoy and wrapped one wiry hand around Malfoy's forearm, turning both of them around so Malfoy stood between himself and Harry. The conductor's other hand was suddenly holding a wand, which was pointed at Malfoy's throat.

Harry froze, his wand still only half-drawn, and stared at the tableau in front of him. Malfoy, staring back at him with a look of pure terror on his face. The conductor, his wand arm shaking slightly, digging the tip of his wand into the skin just above Malfoy's turtleneck. There was a moment of silence in which Harry could barely hear the noise of the train above his own frantic heartbeat.

Now that Harry was paying attention instead of being focused only on how to close the case, he could see all the tiny details that should have tipped him off: a button of the uniform jacket that hadn't been done properly, the shoes which were old and scuffed instead of polished to a shine, the accent which was not nearly as French as it used to be. "Drop yer wand," said the man who looked just like the conductor.

Harry slowly raised his hands in the air, but kept the wand lightly between his fingers. "Don't do anything hasty," he said, trying to sound calmer than he felt.

The false conductor found Malfoy's wand and tossed it in a corner. "Drop it I said!" he exclaimed. Bits of spittle formed at the corner of his mouth. "Drop it, or yer boyfriend here is gonna get it!"

"He's not my…" Harry began.

"Drop it!" the man repeated, and Malfoy flinched as the man's wand prodded him.

Harry dropped the wand, making sure to avoid any sudden movements.

Mrs. Simplon, if that was even her real name, appeared on the door. "Stop shouting, Meg!" she hissed. "D'you want the whole train to hear ya?"

She looked like a completely different person. Gone was the vague yet motherly smile and the American accent. She spoke quickly now, in fast, clipped sentences. "Where's Todd?"

"He went ahead to clear the way," said the conductor – Meg.

"Good," Mrs. Simplon replied. "Take 'em to the back. Yer to stay wiv 'em, mind, and send Todd back to help me."

"But mam…"

Suddenly Mrs. Simplon drew her wand and pointed it at Harry, who had been sidling towards Malfoy. "Stop there. We don't want ta make things unpleasant but we will if ya force us."

Malfoy made a small noise in the back of his throat. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

"Mam," Meg said. "Why stick me wiv the Auror? Me brother can watch 'em."

"Yer brother's still got the body of a little kiddie," Mrs. Simplon snapped. "D'ya want to risk Todd being overpowered? No, ya watch 'em, you make sure they go nowhere, and we'll be home safe before you can say Jack Robinson."

Harry wasn't sure that Malfoy had heard: he was completely rigid, as if he was afraid to breathe. Harry had followed the conversation, though, and he liked little of what he heard from the two smugglers. At least their captors didn't seem about to kill them, but even that was no guarantee. In such a volatile situation, you could never be sure that criminals wouldn't resort to a deadly spell if they felt cornered.

Harry's wand was on the floor, only a few feet away. He shouldn't have dropped it, Harry knew. He should have taken advantage and disarmed Meg while none of her accomplices were around. But Harry hadn't been able to take the risk, not with Malfoy being used as a human shield, and no amount of recrimination would give him back that lost opportunity.

Against two enemies, unarmed, with Malfoy used as hostage, Harry had no choice but to do what he was told. Meg marched the two of them down the corridor: Harry in front, then Malfoy in the middle, with Meg's wand pressed between his shoulder blades.

More than anything, Harry was afraid that they'd run into someone along the corridor, either a passenger or a member of the train staff. Meg was already twitchy at the thought of guarding two prisoners and in Harry's experience twitchiness and wands were a bad combination. Adding the fact that the wand in question was pointed at Malfoy's heart, this was the stuff of Harry's nightmares.

Harry's heart skipped a beat when the door at the other end of the corridor slid open, but it was just Violet, who motioned for them to hurry up. They trooped into the next carriage while Violet stood sentinel at the door.

"It's the Paris-Budapest," she told Meg. Or rather, 'he', if he was Todd, though Harry had more pressing concerns at the moment than pronouns. "So it's all empty." Violet/Todd opened the door to a storage closet, revealing the forms of the conductor and two porters lying on the floor among shelves full of clean towels.

Malfoy let out a whimper. "Did you kill them?" he asked.

"No," Harry cut in before Malfoy could go into hysterics. "If they did, they wouldn't have bothered to tie them up."

"Shaddap!" Meg exclaimed. It was incongruous to see her standing there while the real conductor was lying there unconscious. "Ya two get in there! Todd, mam wants ya ta help wiv the eggs."

Harry and Malfoy moved towards the open door of the storage closet. Harry's eyes darted around, trying to see if there was anything he could use as a weapon.

"Fuck it," Violet/Todd said. "How am I gonna lift anything when I'm a bloody midget?"

"Dunno, go argue with her if ya wanna!" Meg exclaimed.

There were a few bottles of cleaning potions next to the door, but Harry doubted he'd be able to do much with those. They were likely to do more harm than good if he ended up splashing them over himself or Malfoy by accident, and he could hardly throw them at Meg like projectiles: too easy to miss and provoke a retaliation.

Violet stomped off, muttering obscenities. "Arsehole," Meg spat.

"Your brother?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Meg snapped. "That worthless lump. Ya know, it's all his bloody fault we're in this fix!"

"Is it?" Harry tried to keep his voice neutral so that Meg would keep on talking. It distracted her, and she might let slip some useful information.

Meg nodded jerkily. "He was supposed to get us a few hairs from these American tourists, ta make the potion. But what does he come back with? Hair that's all from the same two people. Two!" she almost screamed. "It was a family of five, and he couldn't even get three different people for the three of us!"

"What a moron," Malfoy managed to croak. He and Harry exchanged a glance.

They were standing side by side, trying not to step over the three unconscious bodies occupying most of the floor space. Meg was blocking the door; the conductor wasn't a very tall man, but it would be tough to overpower her on his own, Harry thought. At least while she held the wand. She was no longer pointing it at Malfoy, but she wasn't likely to let go of it any time soon.

There was a mop leaning against one of the shelves. While Meg was distracted by talking, Harry inched closer to it until it was within his reach.

"So you and your brother drank the same batch of Polyjuice Potion?" Harry asked. "That's smart."

"That's daft!" Meg exclaimed. "It was mam's idea to throw off the Aurors by looking like little kiddies, but it didn't work none. As soon as we set foot on the train, who should show up but Harry bloody Potter himself!"

Harry's heart sank. "You knew I was after you?"

Meg laughed, a sharp barking sound that made Malfoy jump. "We're not fools, or d'yer think we didn't follow our own story in the papers? Mam said to leave ya alone, that if ya had anything on us you'd have arrested us for sure, but I kept me eyes peeled all the same. An' I was right to."

Harry moved, lunging left towards the mop and swinging it in an upwards arc. The closet was too cramped, however, and Harry couldn't get enough momentum. The mop hit Meg on the shoulder but it was only a glancing blow and the grip on her wand didn't falter. Her face, the conductor's mustachioed, composed face, contracted into a mask of rage and panic.

"Stupefy!" she yelled, raising her wand.

Harry was already throwing himself forward, but he wasn't quick enough. The curse hit him in the chest, throwing him backwards against the shelves. He heard a splintering noise and a small cascade of towels fell around him as he crumpled to the floor.

His chest burned with pain, but strangely enough the impact with the shelves hadn't been so bad. Harry pushed himself to his knees, trying to think past the blur in front of his eyes. Behind him, Malfoy gave a choked sob.

Harry turned around and saw Malfoy sprawled on the floor, his left arm bent at an awkward angle. Behind him, the shelf was a ruin of wood and crumpled linens: they'd hit the shelf so hard that it had cracked almost in two.

Malfoy seemed to be trying and failing to get up. He whimpered again.

"Malfoy," Harry murmured. No, he thought. No, no, no. "Can you hear me?"

"Don't move!" Meg exclaimed. Harry had almost forgotten about her, or about the other three unconscious people on the floor. Malfoy's eyes remained closed but he jerked his head once, nodding yes. "None of ya move, or I swear yer gonna regret it," Meg repeated.

Harry ignored her and crawled closer to Malfoy. There didn't seem to be any blood but the impact itself had given him broken bones, bruises, who knew what else. Harry looked up at Meg. "He needs a Healer," he said, straining to keep calm.

"Shaddap and don't move," Meg said. Her face was shiny with sweat and the hand holding the wand was shaking madly, but Harry didn't doubt her chances to hit him with a second curse if she wanted to.

"I'm... fine," Malfoy wheezed. He sounded as if there was no air left in his lungs.

"All right," Harry told Meg, quickly. "Just… just let me help him, and then we'll stay put."

He waited for the answer with bated breath. "Awright," Meg said after quite some time. "But no tricks! Or I swear I'll take it out on _him_ , and I'll make ya watch."

Harry nodded. Moving very, very slowly, he helped Malfoy into a sitting position. Even the slightest touch elicited hisses of pain, but aside from those Malfoy didn't offer any complaints. It worried Harry that Malfoy was in such bad shape he didn't even have the strength to berate him, even though what had happened was Harry's fault.

Catching the smugglers now seemed to hold less importance for Harry. His own injuries were a minor annoyance. Just let Malfoy walk away from this, he thought. Just let him recover enough so I can yell at him for butting into my investigation and risking his life like that.

Malfoy sagged against Harry, cradling his broken arm. His hair had fallen in front of his face, he looked deathly pale and his breathing was laboured. Harry had no idea how to make him more comfortable: he doubted Meg would give him a wand so he could perform first-aid magic, and he wouldn't trust her to fix a broken arm.

Harry tried to figure out the actual position of the train. Though the door of the closet was cracked open, from his position on the floor he could only see the cream-and-silver tapestry of the corridor behind Meg. He glanced at his watch, under the pretence of wrapping his arm around Malfoy's shoulders, but it had grown too dark to make out the digits.

From the way the light was fading quickly, Harry guessed it was some time between six o'clock and half past six. That gave him about an hour before the next station: no time to think of a plan, no time to do anything really. His best chance was to stay put and hope that, when the smugglers made their escape, they'd leave him and Malfoy behind. It would be the worst failure of Harry's career, not to mention the risk of having a dozen illegal Hebridean Blacks hatching all over Europe in the next few months, but at least Malfoy would walk away from it.

Harry closed his eyes. He could imagine it only too well. There would be a stink in the papers, with every columnist and every wizard on the street all demanding that the Ministry be held accountable for this international clusterfuck. Harry doubted he'd be sacked – he was well-liked in the Auror Department, he had an excellent track record and was next in line for a promotion. All the same, he felt he'd have to resign. Having a scapegoat would shield the rest of the department from sharing the blame, and besides Harry had made too many bad calls during the investigation to be able to trust his own judgment in the future.

He wondered what Malfoy would say once it was all over. Would Malfoy join the chorus of voices clamouring for Harry's head or would he defend him? Harry felt as if they'd been able to understand each other in the past two days, but would that hold up once they were back in England? For that matter, would they keep seeing each other or would they go their separate ways? In ten years' time, Harry thought bitterly, today would just be a distant memory. Draco Malfoy would be just another old school mate, someone he used to hate, once slept with, and was now coldly polite when they ran into each other every now and then.

Malfoy shifted around and his hair brushed against Harry's cheek. His skin was clammy but at least he didn't feel feverish. Harry ran his hand up and down Malfoy's arm uninjured arm; the floor wasn't exactly warm and his own backside was going numb.

"Potter," Malfoy muttered. Harry turned his head and met Malfoy's eyes. Malfoy moved his lips but no sound came out.

"Can you fetch him some water?" Harry asked Meg, but she just gave him a dark look.

"What, and leave ya alone? I don't think so."

Malfoy licked his lips and tried again. "This is… the worst… holiday… I've ever been on," he managed. "Your fault."

Harry managed a strained smile. "Sorry about it," he said. "I wish this was a holiday for me too, instead of work. Then we wouldn't be…" He trailed off, conscious of Meg standing only a few feet away, listening to it all.

"Would you have… talked to me at all?" Malfoy asked. "If you were on holiday. If you didn't have to… investigate me, or…"

"I don't know," Harry said. "To be honest? I wouldn't have shared a cabin with you if it wasn't for the sake of the bloody investigation."

Malfoy gave a snort of laughter which turned into a sob as he jolted his injured arm. "You say the sweetest things," he said through clenched teeth.

Harry looked away, staring at the polished hardwood floor. If it wasn't for the case, it wouldn't have mattered whether he stayed in the London-Istanbul carriage or not. He wouldn't have ended up sharing a cabin and a dinner table with Malfoy, so there would have been no need for them to act civil around each other in public. In fact, there would have been no need for them to interact at all: they could have spent the whole journey pretending that they didn't know each other.

It meant he would have never got to know Malfoy better, that they would have never shared a meal or joked together or kissed or anything. But it was better than the alternative, which was Malfoy crumpled on the floor, bruised and scared. "I wish I'd never boarded this bloody train," Harry said, half to himself.

"You're an idiot," Malfoy said, cutting him short.

When it got dark, the lamps in the corridor lit themselves and filled the train with a soft golden glow. Meg lit a single lamp inside the closet. She was getting more and more twitchy as time went by and she kept sneaking glances towards the end of the corridor. Either afraid that someone would pass through, or waiting for one of her accomplices to show up.

The conductor and the porters were still unconscious. "Do you think they were knocked out by a stunning spell?" Malfoy murmured, voicing Harry's thoughts.

"Don't think so," Harry replied. He sneaked a glance at Meg, in case she was going to yell at them for talking, but she seemed absorbed in her own thoughts. "A spell would have worn off by now. A Knock-Out Concoction, maybe," he suggested, thinking aloud. "It would explain why they kept us conscious, if they don't have any of it left."

Malfoy made a noise of acknowledgement. "I don't feel very conscious," he said.

"Hold on," Harry replied. "We'll reach the next station very soon." Only ten or fifteen minutes, or so his watch said.

"They're not going to let us off so easily," Malfoy pointed out. He grimaced. "Not any time soon…" Suddenly he turned around, grasping for Harry's hand. "Potter, what time is it?"

"Enough!" Meg barked. "Silence over there!"

Harry squeezed Malfoy's hand. "He just wants to know when he'll be able to get to a Healer!" he told Meg.

She frowned and checked a large pocket watch. "Just settle down, ya two," she said. " _We_ 'll be reaching the station soon, but yer not going anywhere yet. Can't have you running after us until we're clear away."

Malfoy's eyes fluttered close. "The time," he whispered. "The potion…" Harry had to lean very close to catch his words. "It's been a long time since she drank Polyjuice Potion," Malfoy whispered in Harry's ear.

Harry tensed, his heart beating a mad tattoo in his chest. He'd have kissed Malfoy, only Meg was watching, so he limited himself to a brief squeeze of Malfoy's good shoulder. "Yes," Harry said. "Try to get some rest now."

It had been a long time, Harry realized. In fact, even assuming that she drank the potion that turned her into the conductor right before coming to cabin no. 7, she'd been transformed for close to one hour. She didn't seem to have a flask with her and, if she was distracted with watching Harry and Malfoy, she might forget to go get more potion. Or maybe the plan was to let the potion wear off before leaving the train.

Harry felt completely alert now. His earlier dejection had vanished now that he had a purpose again. It would all come to nothing if Todd or Mrs. Simplon came back in the next few minutes, or if the potion was strong enough to last for several hours, but Harry let himself hope. He untangled his fingers from Malfoy's, settling him as comfortably as he could against the shelves. They shared a look; if Malfoy knew what Harry was planning to do, he didn't show any signs of it, neither by encouraging Harry or by telling him to stop.

There was just, maybe, some reluctance when he let go of Harry's hand, but Harry might have imagined that. Harry kept his eyes on Meg and waited.

After three days, Harry had become quite attuned to the movement of the train. He noticed at once when it started to slow down, the first sign that they were approaching a station. Meg still looked the same as before, though now the conductor's slicked-back hair was all untidy and she'd thrown off the uniform jacket. It might not happen in time, Harry thought, and just then Meg's arm jerked to her stomach.

"Ow," she grunted. "Oh no, fuck me…"

She strained to hold up her wand, but Harry was already moving, pushing himself to his feet and jumping forward. He leaped over the prone forms of the staff members and curled his fingers into a fist. The skin on Meg's face started to bulge. She brought up her arms to shield herself from Harry's fists, the sleeves of the shirt bulging against arms that were rapidly expanding until they were one size bigger, two sizes bigger.

Harry's fist connected with her jaw and she stumbled back into the corridor. They fell against the wall, grappling for possession of the wand. Her fingers spasmed as she suddenly grew taller by half a feet. She dropped the wand and Harry kicked it aside.

For a brief moment Harry had the advantage. He pinned Meg against a wall with all the strength he had, panting hard. Meg's shoulders sagged and she gave him a look of pure hatred. Her features were rearranging into a complete stranger: the mustache disappeared into her upper lip, the hair grew longer and lighter, her features became sharper. There was a ripping noise as a couple of seams burst open: the conductor was a slight man, while Meg was not.

Glancing out of the window, Harry saw a few scattered houses. They were getting close to the station and he'd barely have time to tie up Meg and catch her accomplices before they fled with the dragon eggs. Just then Meg roared and pushed Harry back, stumbling forward. She hadn't stopped struggling because she gave up: she had only been waiting to regain her strength.

"Ya fucker!" she cried.

Meg slammed one meaty fist into Harry's stomach, right where he'd been hit by the stunning spell earlier, and Harry doubled in pain. She punched him again, sending him stumbling to the floor. Harry rolled aside just in time to avoid a vicious kick.

"I'm gonna kill ya this time," she yelled, stepping forward and drawing her fist back for another punch. "Yer dead, Auror, yer…"

"Stupefy!" Malfoy yelled.

Meg flew back and fell to the floor, and Harry pushed himself up on one elbow. Malfoy was leaning against the doorjamb for support, holding Meg's wand, trembling with effort.

"You shut up, hag," Malfoy spat.

With some difficulty, Harry got to his feet. His whole body felt like one big bruise. "I've got to stop the others, we're almost there."

Malfoy gave him a jerky nod. "Take this," he said, holding out the wand.

Harry took it, brushing Malfoy's fingers as he did so. He turned around and conjured ropes to bind Meg. Malfoy sagged further down the wall, holding his broken arm. "Go into the other carriage and ask for help," Harry told him. He hated the thought of leaving Malfoy alone while he looked close to passing out, but there was no time. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Another nod. "Just catch those bastards," Malfoy said. "Go!"

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He ran off, jumping over Meg's unconscious form, shouldering open the door to the London-Istanbul carriage.

Mrs. Simplon was at the other end of the corridor, standing near the door with a burly man Harry didn't recognize. Todd, Harry assumed. Their trunks and cases were stacked next to them. She looked around as Harry closed in, and swore under her breath when she saw him.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry yelled, and the wand that she'd pulled out of her handbag flew away.

Todd shouldered past his mother and yelled an hex but Harry dodged and the hex went wide.

Harry cast Impedimenta. Todd went down, fumbling the next curse. A few curious travelers popped their head outside their cabins but immediately retreated when Harry yelled at them to stay inside. Mrs. Simplon was on her hands and knees, searching for her wand.

Todd blocked Harry's Petrificus Totalus. Harry advanced on him but stumbled when the train screeched to a halt. With a cry, Mrs. Simplon retrieved her wand and jumped to her feet. She yelled a word that Harry didn't recognize and a jet of black flames surged from the tip of her wand.

Harry jumped sideways towards the window. The flames missed him by mere inches, singing the carpet and filling the carriage with an acrid stench. The next burst of flames hit the window in full and shattered it.

Glass shards rained over Harry but he was already moving, leaping across the corridor to cover the last few feet that separated him from the two smugglers. "Petrificus Totalus!" Harry exclaimed.

Todd stumbled and went rigid, then fell back on the floor.

Mrs. Simplon stumbled aside to avoid being hit by her falling son. "Expelliarmus!" Harry yelled, just a moment before she yelled "Immobulus!"

A flash of red light hit her before she could finish her spell and her wand flew away, over the head of a group of men and women in navy robes who had just boarded the train.

The Bulgarian Aurors started yelling in Bulgarian and in French, pointing their wands at Harry and Mrs. Simplon. One of them went to stand over Todd, even though all Todd could move at the moment were his eyes, which were darting around frantically.

Mrs. Simplon cursed and threw down her wand. Harry surrendered his and raised his hands. "I can explain everything," he said. "I'm from the British Auror Department. Er, is there someone I could talk to? Someone who speaks English?"

* * *

It took several hours before Harry's story could be fully checked. They found a translator and Harry relayed all about the smuggling case two times, once to the team who had apprehended him and the smugglers, and once to a higher-level official who Apparated from Sofia. Then the official wanted to talk to Harry's superiors, which posed some difficulties since it was Sunday night and everyone was at home in their bed.

The main thing, however, was that the Simplons had been arrested. A search of their trunks had immediately produced eleven Hebridean Black eggs inside a trunk's hidden compartment, and the Bulgarians had stopped the train from departing and put everyone under arrest while they investigated the matter.

Harry didn't see Malfoy during the confusion that followed. He was confined to his cabin, as was everyone else, but Malfoy didn't come. When Harry asked, the two Aurors who stood guard didn't know anything about an Englishman with a broken arm, but they assured him in a broken mix of French and English that Healers had been contacted and were on their way.

Meanwhile Aurors and officials from the Express Company came and went, asking Harry for identification, for his case files, for details about his investigation. A Healer came to see Harry and argued that he ought to be moved to a hospital but his guards wouldn't let him go anywhere until it was clear whether he was a criminal or a colleague. Anyway, Harry wouldn't have gone anywhere without making sure that the Simplons were safely under lock and key.

Finally the high-ranked Auror, Madame Draganova, came to see Harry. "Mr. Potter," she said holding out her hand. "You haff our thanks. We contacted London and Minister Shacklebolt vouched for you. You are free to go."

Harry shook her hand warmly, feeling dizzy with relief. "What about the other prisoners? The woman calling herself Mrs. Simplon, and the other two."

"The prisoners vill be taken into custody pending their trial," Draganova said. "It is a great relief to know that no more dragons vill be bought and sold illegally in the streets," she added. "This I do not mind telling you."

"Our office would be glad to help you build the case against them," Harry said.

Draganova nodded. "In the morning we vill contact London again to arrange a joint task force."

Finally, after exchanging a few more compliments, she went off to supervise the prisoner's transferral to a Bulgarian prison and Harry was free to leave the cabin. It was almost midnight and the train was still on the platform at Narechen. Likely the small village had never seen so much activity in a single day: the station was lit with hundreds of lanterns and the travelers stood in small clusters, talking among themselves or demanding to know what was going on.

They all turned towards Harry when he stepped off the train. Harry knew he looked a fright, with bruises all over and dark circles under his eyes. He'd changed into a clean sweater and the Healer had given him a salve that soothed the worst of the pain, but his left side and ribs would be black and blue for a few days.

Several travelers assaulted Harry with questions. Why had Mrs. Simplon been arrested and what had happened to her daughters? Was it true that there was a dragon inside the train? How longer until the Aurors allowed the train to leave?

Harry answered as best as he could, scotching the more outlandish rumours and assuring everybody that the train would resume its journey very soon. That, along with the hot coffee that two waiters were starting to hand out, placated the crowd.

Malfoy wasn't inside the makeshift hospital tent where the Healers were currently treating the conductor and the two porters. It seemed that the men had been drugged with a very powerful sleeping potion. They were still groggy but they would be fine, though Harry wasn't sure the conductor would welcome him aboard the European Express in the future.

After some inquiry, Harry found Malfoy sitting on a bench outside the ticket office, wrapped in a checkered blanket and nursing a cup of coffee. Malfoy didn't immediately notice Harry: he was deep in conversation with none other than Volkov.

Volkov saw him, though, and got to his feet. "Harry Potter," he said. Harry tensed, preparing for another confrontation, but Volkov thrust out his hand. "Draco vos explaining to me," he said. "I vos mistaken about the fig syrup. Please forget the things that vere said."

"What's with the fig syrup, anyway?" Malfoy asked. "Is anyone going to tell me what that means?" Both Harry and Volkov ignored him.

"About yesterday," Harry said while Volkov crushed his hand in an iron grip. "I'm very sorry about breaking in and lying to you. I, er, I thought you were a smuggler," he added. As far as justifications went, it wasn't very flattering, but Volkov seemed to accept it.

"Vot is the phrase? No harm done," Volkov said. "Next time you're in Bulgaria, you and me should go out for drinks. I'll invite Viktor too. And Draco," he added, giving at Malfoy a once-over. "He can use a stiff drink to put some life back into him."

Two red splotches appeared on Malfoy's cheeks. He was still very pale and held himself stiffly, but seeing him upright and talking almost normally had already lifted a great weight from Harry's shoulders.

"I'm fine with coffee right now," Malfoy told Volkov. "But I'll owl you if I'm ever in Sofia. Thanks for the help, Vanko."

After Volkov had gone, Harry lowered himself in the seat he'd left empty. Malfoy sipped his coffee and stared at the pavement for a long while without speaking.

Harry cleared his throat. "You're on first name terms with him?"

Malfoy nodded. "He helped translate for me, those idiot Healers spoke no English and they mangled their French so badly I couldn't understand a word."

"But did they patch you up?" Harry asked. "Are you feeling better now?"

"They fixed my arm and spread some foul-smelling goop over the worst of the bruises," Malfoy said, pulling a face. "On the whole I only feel terrible instead of truly terrible, so yes, I would say it's an improvement."

"I'm sorry you got caught in it," Harry said. He couldn't look Malfoy in the eye. Malfoy's voice was strained now that Volkov had left. Harry hadn't expected to be greeted with a hug and a kiss, but he'd hoped for more than this.

Malfoy drained the last of his coffee and turned around. "There's something I didn't get to say earlier," he said. Now he sounded almost angry. "When that madman, or madwoman, trapped us inside that closet…"

"Go on," Harry managed to say. He stared at his shoelaces as if they were the most fascinating thing.

"You said it was your fault we got into that mess, and you are bloody right about it," Malfoy said. "I could have been killed by those criminals. _You_ would have been killed, for that matter, if it wasn't for me!"

"You're right," Harry said. He did look into Malfoy's eyes at that, because he might as well do it properly. "I didn't have the time to thank you. I'm grateful for your help – I'm going to mention it in the official report and everything, you deserve to get credit for…"

"That is not the point!" Malfoy exclaimed. "You're _grateful_ and you'll mention me in your _report_?" Harry stared at him, taken aback by the venom in Malfoy's voice. "I don't need to get any bloody credit for my help, though, yes, I bloody well deserve it!"

"I don't get it," Harry said, dumbfounded. He stared at Malfoy. "What _is_ the point then?"

"The point," Malfoy said, and then he looked away. "The point is that you said it would be better if you'd never boarded the European Express at all."

Harry didn't recall that, but it sounded very likely. "I thought that the smugglers would get away," he said. "I thought all I'd done was to get people hurt." To get you hurt, he didn't add. "Even now I keep thinking about all the things I could've done to find them earlier or, or to stop you from getting involved…"

"I wanted to get involved!" Malfoy exclaimed. "When will you get it into your thick skull that I wanted it, all of it?! All right, I could have done without being beaten up, but if the alternative is _nothing_ then I'm not fine with it, not at all."

"Nothing?" Harry repeated.

Malfoy took a deep breath. "If the alternative is," he said, "that we never…"

"Oh," Harry said.

"Idiot," Malfoy muttered, still without looking at Harry. "Anyway, it's clear that you don't feel the same. At least, you said you don't regret sleeping with me and I believe you, but I understand now that you don't want anything more. I should have known, really," he added with a half-smile. "It's not as if you ever initiated a kiss after last night."

Harry didn't know what to reply. "I don't…"

"It's fine," Malfoy said quickly. "I just wanted to tell you it's fine. We can both forget about it, I'll never mention it to anyone so things won't be awkward for you."

When Harry remained silent, Malfoy made as if to get up. "Wait!" Harry exclaimed. He grabbed Malfoy's wrist, keeping him in place. "I… there's something… there was no time, earlier, so…"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Potter, if you have something to say, can you please try to string your words together into a coherent sentence?" he drawled.

"It's not… It's something I have to do, rather," Harry said. "That I want to do."

Malfoy did look at Harry then, stared right into his eyes. "The suspense is killing me," he said. Was it Harry's imagination or there was a slight hitch in his voice? Despite his clipped words about forgetting it all, was Malfoy still wishing for something more? Harry hoped so.

Before he could chicken out, Harry leaned forward and kissed Malfoy. His arms slid under Malfoy's blanket, wrapping around Malfoy's waist and holding him close. Malfoy sighed and closed his eyes, scooting closer to Harry until they were pressed together from thigh to shoulder. He tasted like bitter coffee, with a faint trace of blood underneath.

Harry's hand slid up Malfoy's spine. It was barely more than a brush of his fingertips, but Malfoy still hissed under the feather touch.

"I don't regret sleeping with you," Harry said, breaking the kiss. Maybe he should, because he'd been in the middle of an active investigation, but he couldn't bring himself to regret that one bit. "The thing is, I didn't know how much I cared until I saw you get hurt. It was scary to realize it right when I couldn't do anything to help you."

Malfoy exhaled. "Are you sure, Potter? You know it's not that simple. We carry more baggage than the European Express…"

"It is simple for me," Harry said. "We can start from the basics, like dinner since it's my fault you ended up skipping it. Or, or we can go out for coffee. Take it slow." He was rambling now. "Not that I want to take it slow, particularly," he added, "but I figured I should wait a couple of weeks until you're better before fucking you into the mattress and proving once and for all just how much I _don't_ regret sleeping with you."

Malfoy smiled at that, a rare, genuine smile. "You really have a way with words, Potter. There's just one problem with your plan."

"What?"

"I don't know if I will be able to wait so long," Malfoy said.

At that, Harry would have pushed Malfoy down on the bench and had his way with him right there. However he had a feeling that Bulgaria had laws against indecent exposure, and also despite his words Malfoy was tired and bruised and not up for much more than kissing.

"Maybe just a couple of days, then," Harry said.

Malfoy hummed. "We'll see about it," he said. "At least now that you've solved your case, can you let me sleep in tomorrow? Without sneaking out of bed or waking up at the crack of dawn?"

Harry wished he could. "I'm not sure I'll get any sleep at all," he said. "I sorted things out with the Bulgarians: the Simplons and the dragon eggs are in their charge now. But I still need to write my report for the office, and Shacklebolt will be expecting some kind of explanation as to why the Bulgarian Minister of Magic called him at home on a Sunday night."

At that, Malfoy sighed. "I see."

"Afterwards," Harry said, "I have no objection to spending the rest of the day in bed."

"Really?" Malfoy exclaimed, and Harry made a note to himself that he should get Malfoy to smile more often. It was a good look on him: it made him look softer and younger, and it made something flutter inside Harry's stomach. "But I thought… Aren't you going back to London?"

"Not just yet." Harry grinned. "I haven't taken any time off in months, so I'm going to take a couple of weeks of leave. The department won't mind."

"I should hope not, after you've closed the biggest case of the year," Malfoy pointed out. "Thanks to me."

That something in Harry's stomach intensified in response, and he shifted closer. "Anyway, I want to… to spend some time with you, without having to worry about smugglers and dragon eggs." He took a deep breath. "I won't apologize for trying to solve the case, but I am sorry for getting you hurt. For hurting you, and going through your stuff, and all the rest of it."

Something flickered in Malfoy's grey eyes. "Apology accepted," he said. He was striving to affect a cool tone, but Harry didn't miss the slight tremble in his shoulders. Nor the way the fingers of his good hand curled in the front of Harry's cloak as if to hold Harry in place.

Harry covered Malfoy's hand with his own, tangling their fingers together. "So will you give me the chance to make it up to you?"

"I suppose I can clear some time out of my busy schedule if you insist, Potter," Malfoy said, breathless, leaning forward so that their noses were almost brushing together.

Harry closed the rest of the distance, matching the curve of his smile to Malfoy's, and pressed their lips together. "I do," he murmured in between kisses. "I do insist."

The night was cold and his words made little white puffs in the air, but it was warm under his cloak and Malfoy's blanket. Harry held Malfoy tightly in his arms. For the first time since the dragon eggs had been stolen, he didn't feel pressed for time, didn't feel like he had to hurry up and rush somewhere else.

He was exactly where he wanted to be, and he had all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or on [Livejournal](http://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/104371.html).


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